2026-06-03

No, Jerusalem was NOT an “uninhabited ruin” after 70 CE — sacrifices continued . . . .

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

CORRECTION (10th June 2026): The title says “sacrifices continued”. I should have added a qualifier, such as a question mark or an adverb “arguably” or the adjective “informal”. Scholars cite evidence to indicate that informal sacrifices continued. Some scholarly works have also expressed doubts about any sacrifices being offered but I have yet to see them engage with the evidence cited in favour of informal sacrifices. The evidence leaves us “beyond doubt” that Jews were regular visitor to Jerusalem and the site of the Temple. See the next post for one reference to this point.

Sometimes even PhD persons can keep repeating mistakes in their specialist field and I’d like to correct one that has come to my attention. I did attempt to notify their author a few weeks ago, offering to send some of the following citations, but have had no reply. So for everyone else who is interested….

Mistaken claim:

Jerusalem itself remained by law an uninhabited ruin from 70 to the 130s, and when it was rebuilt as Aelia Capitolina, Jews were banned from living there. Jewish attitudes and beliefs also substantially changed in result, even in Palestine. So you can’t equate the conditions post-War with those in the time of Jesus.

Source: Josephus on Jesus? Why You Can’t Cite Opinions Before 2014

Correction: There was no such law. Jerusalem was not left an “uninhabited ruin from 70 to the 130s”. Romans certainly lived there and Jewish pilgrims were regular visitors. As for the Aelia Capitolina experience, Jews were only expelled after the Bar Kokhba uprising 132-135 CE. And no, as can be seen in the quotes and their cited sources below, Jewish attitudes and beliefs by no means “substantially changed” as a result of 70 CE. I will quote some sources to support these corrections at the end of this post. There are more I could add, but what has been included should be enough to make the point.

Erroneous claim:

“Jerusalem” (which in 95 A.D. was an uninhabited ruin).

Source: How We Can Know 1 Clement Was Actually Written in the 60s AD

Correction: No, it was not. Romans lived there and Jews regularly frequented the city on pilgrimages or for personal sacrifices. I quote scholarly accounts below – beneath the heading “Jerusalem after 70 CE”

Someone made the following claim (which I happen to agree with):

The ‘Little Apocalypse’ maps better the circumstances of the Bar Kochba War…

To which the unfortunate reply was made:

It cannot. Because it still has the temple standing to be destroyed and Jerusalem inhabited. By the time of the Bar Kochba revolt, Jerusalem was an uninhabited ruin, and the temple had been razed. The author of Mark 13 had no concept of this.

Source: Was the Entire New Testament Forged in the Second Century?

No, again, this is simply false — except the temple did remain unbuilt. The passage in Mark does not speak of the temple. It speaks of a place that is presumed to mean the “holy of holies” but that is not the whole temple. Hadrian was known to place his statue in that site. And that site was regularly visited by Jews up to Hadrian’s time. (Some scholars suspect a rebuilding of the temple may have begun in the early 130s but there is no clear evidence for this.) A reason it remained unbuilt appears to be that the tax the Jews had once paid for the upkeep of their temple was now diverted by the Romans to a treasury in Rome.

Jerusalem after 70 CE

Though there is no evidence in classical, ecclesiastical or Jewish literature that the rebuilding or repair⁵⁵ of the Temple was forbidden after 70 (as was to be the case after 135), the diversion of the Temple tax to Rome suggests that it was at any rate discouraged, and there is no indication that rebuilding was attempted or even seriously discussed, though the Jews had free access to the site ⁵⁶ (in contrast to the situation after 135).

⁵⁵ BJ vi, 387-8 implies that some parts survived the fire [BJ = Josephus’s Jewish War]

⁵⁶ BJ vii, 377; and references to visits by rabbis and laymen to the Temple hill—e.g., BT Makk. 24b; Ber. 3a; Tos. Ber. vii, 2b (transl. O. Holtzmann (1912), 85; transl. E. Lohse and G. Schlichting (1956–8), 86); Eduy. iii, 3, 459; Midr. Eccl. R. vii, 8, § 1; Lament. R. i, 17, § 52; ARN 4 on Hosea vi, 6 (Goldin, 34); IV (II) Esdras iii, 1–2 (cf. below, n. 58); II Baruch x, 5; xiii, 1; xxxv, 1. II Baruch comprises elements of varying date, and these chapters clearly date from after 70; see R. H. Charles in APOT II, 470–6.

Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian: A Study in Political Relations (E.J. Brill, 1976), 346.

Another:

Following the cessation of hostilities Jews in increasing numbers moved into Judaea and Jerusalem, and Jewish pilgrims continued to come to the Temple with their offerings. Seven synagogues survived in the city to serve the need of the Jerusalem community.¹ Traditional religious rites and ceremonies were persistent, and would have been observed as fully as possible. Only when the Temple worship was threatened by Hadrian’s design to establish a Temple of Jupiter on the site did revolt again break out, and one may reason that such a threat to the Temple cult must have been absent up until that time (about 130 or 132).”

¹ F.-M. Abel, Histoire de la Palestine (1952), II, 48; H. Vincent et Abel, Jérusalem (1926), II, 877 f. See Ep1ph. De mens. et pond. 14.

Kenneth W. Clark, “Worship in the Jerusalem Temple after A.D. 70,” New Testament Studies 6, no. 04 (1960): 273f, https://doi.org/10.1017/S0028688500001594.

Another:

In previous times [that is, in earlier destructions of the Jerusalem Temple] the cult flourished even when there was no central sanctuary, a recognition clearly made by the rabbis. [Sacrifices continued at other Jewish temples in Egypt — at Elephantine and Leontopolis] . . . . In the past the sacrificial cult continued, or was resumed in some form and in some places whenever there was no central sanctuary or when it was not functioning.

The sacrificial cult [at Jerusalem after 70] was made optional.

After the Temple was destroyed, its place remained holy and suitable for offering sacrifices. According to other sources, the optional offering of sacrifices was permitted after the destruction of the Temple in any place, even outside of Jerusalem.

This implies that after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem its sanctity ended: and the offering of sacrifices was permissible in other places, even outside of Palestine.

Scattered evidence points to the persistence of private sacrifices after the fall of the Temple.

Other sages, who often expressed the hope for a speedy restoration of the Temple. . . .

This experience deterred them from appointing another High Priest which would have led to the re-establishment of a centralized cult and to a nationalistic rallying center. Nonetheless, they [sc. the Romans] did not prohibit the Jews from revisiting Jerusalem and the ruins of the Temple until the Bar Kokhba rebellion

Guttmann, Alexander. “The End of the Jewish Sacrificial Cult.” Hebrew Union College Annual 38 (1967): 137–48. — supporting rabbinic and other sources are cited throughout. His point is that though private sacrifices were permitted, and continued, at the temple site, official sacrifices were no longer offered there because that would have required the appointment of a High Priest, and only Romans could do that. Guttmann also argues that the Pharisaic leaders after 70 may not have supported Bar Kokhba’s rebellion because had it succeeded, they would have been replaced by a restored priesthood overseeing official temple sacrifices.

Another interesting point is that several leaders said that since the temple no longer existed, atonement could be achieved by expressing loving-kindness to one another. (This view was an extension of pre-70 Jews who believed the temple was not necessary if people expressed righteous behaviour. — For another remark on the same lines see the Nodet section below.) But others regularly expressed a love for the holiness of the temple site, implying a longing for its restoration.

Another — again pointing to the continuity of Jewish religious thinking, not to some “substantial change” in attitudes and beliefs:

Both archaeological and rabbinical documents testify to a Jewish cultural identity, the institutional use of Hebrew, testify “to the vitality of Judaism and Jewish identity among Judean Jews in the years between 70 and 135.”

Adiel Schremer, “The Lost Chapter: Imperialism and Jewish Society 70-135,” Revue Des Études Juives 179, nos. 1–2 (2020): 10, https://doi.org/10.2143/REJ.179.1.3287589.

Another:

We may safely conclude that during this period [sc. between 70 and 135] the population grew up in Judea, and that something of the Temple worship was restored.”

So, this administration was functioning at the time he was writing, very probably still during the reign of Domitian. Again, when Josephus describes the organization of the cult, he writes systematically in the present tense (Ant. 3:224-58). In Ag. Ap. 2:193-8), he recalls, still in the present, that there is one sole Temple for one sole God, and that the priests are constantly occupied in its service, and he even mentions the daily sacrifices offered by the Jews for the emperors and the Roman people (2:77). . . .

It is also worth noting that Josephus, although he claims to be an eyewitness, begins his account of the War with the Maccabean crisis, more than two centuries earlier: it was a forced a cessation of the cult (the daily sacrifice) followed by its restoration at the end of three and a half years (half a “week of years”, to borrow the terminology of Dan 9:27). This suggests that he was already envisaging something similar after 70, even if he does not say so expressly, or even perhaps that things were already moving in this direction. . . .

[Plutarch, writing in the time of Trajan, describes Jewish festival customs associated with the temple:] The wording indicates a witness of the present position, and not memories of the past. . . .

Dio Cassius, however, soberly says that a part of the Temple was set on fire (65.6.3), which opens up the possibility of a worship resumption in not too distant a future. . . .

We can finally mention a collection of ancient traditions, entitled Chronicon paschale, in which it is said that Hadrian destroyed the temple that had actually been rebuilt. . . .

Anyhow, an equestrian statue of Hadrian was erected at the very place of the Holy of Holies, and Jerome saw it as the abomination of desolation that Jesus prophesied In Matth. 24:15. See also: The Abomination of Desolation in Jesus’ Prophecy – More Scholars Who Support Its Surprising Identity

In Jesus’ prediction, the only possible reference is to Hadrian’s destruction and profanation . . .
[see side box —>]

Etienne Nodet, “Destruction of Jerusalem Temple”, in Rethinking the Jewish War: Archeology, Society, Traditions, ed. Anthony Giambrone, Études Bibliques 84 (Peeters, 2021), 246.

As per Guttmann above, Nodet notes how Jewish/Judean leadership felt at ease without a temple by substituting ethics since this had been a practice in other times when the temple was destroyed: “According to Abot de-Rabbi Nathan A, § 4), Yohanan declared that there is a mode of expiation which is just as effective as the cult, to wit, charity, but that is actually a way of bypassing the Temple, for this precept already existed well before the destruction, cf. m.Abot 1:2, which attributes it to Simon the Righteous.

Another indication of quick recovery and continuity after 70:

The Jewish material culture of Herodian era continued during the period between the two uprisings. . . . The archaeological record shows that the Jewish population recovered from the Jewish War within a generation.

Boaz Zissu, “Interbellum Judea 70-132 CE: An Archaeological Perspective,” in Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: The Interbellum 70‒132 Ce: 15, ed. Joshua J. Schwartz and Peter J. Tomson (Brill, 2017), 49.

Again,

The general situation reflected in the documents is one of rapid recovery of Judaea.

Joshua Schwartz, “Yavne Revisited: Jewish ‘Survival’ in the Wake of the War of Destruction,” in Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: How to Write Their History, ed. Peter J. Tomson and Joshua J. Schwartz (Brill, 2014), 248.

And again:

Destruction of the Temple and the sacking of the city did not bring about the abandonment of Jewish villages in the Jerusalem area and throughout Judaea.

Kloner’s work summarized in Joshua Schwartz, “Yavne Revisited: Jewish ‘Survival’ in the Wake of the War of Destruction,” in Jews and Christians in the First and Second Centuries: How to Write Their History, ed. Peter J. Tomson and Joshua J. Schwartz (Brill, 2014), 247.

I’d rather not stir up flame wars by mentioning names but maybe a reader here can discreetly notify anyone they think might be off-track regarding the long-held scholarly view about the situation in Jerusalem after 70 CE.

2026-04-18

Doing History Backwards — and Discovering Christian Origins (or not)

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by Neil Godfrey

The usual way of doing history is to start with the ancient sources and move forwards. So for Christian origins we might start with the canonical gospels, sift out what is not plausible (e.g. rising from the dead), massage a little what seems plausible for the times of the story setting (e.g. a would-be messiah was crucified by the Romans and hallucinations about a dead person reappearing), add the epistles of Paul and Book of Acts to tell us that preachers went out preaching the gospel to the world, and bingo! Christianity is born. Today we have the gospels and letters from within a generation of Jesus and his apostles and we can study them to work out how things started out to explain what we have today.

But here’s another way of doing history.

Start with what we think we know, what we’ve learned, about the Gospels and Epistles of Paul. Start with our common understanding that these were among the earliest documents of Christianity. Start with our knowledge that the gospels were competing (or complementary) accounts of the historical Jesus, mixed with a bit of mythical embellishment. Start also with our notion of the common knowledge that Paul wrote letters to his early churches.

Then work back.

Okay, we are clear about what our beliefs about the sources are. Now let’s work back and see what others thought about these gospels and letters. Why do we think the things we do about them? Did we inherit our views from earlier writers? What did those earlier writers say? We can leapfrog over generations and go back to late antiquity and learn that the Church Fathers definitely assured their readers that the four gospels were “true” accounts of Jesus; and that Paul’s letters, as we know them, were indeed written by a first century Paul.

Okay, but let’s keep moving back in time though our mental time-machine.

We read now that Church Fathers protested that there were many letters of Paul doing the rounds and that many of these were outright forgeries! We further learn that some sects had shortened forms of the letters and that the only true letters were the larger, more wordy texts.

We learn that there were many gospels doing the rounds. But only four of these were genuine.

Let’s keep working backwards:

Let’s say the year is 140 CE. Some figure in Rome is declaring that he has a gospel and ten letters by Paul. That one gospel is anti-Jewish and the letters reject the idea that the Jewish Scriptures are authoritative. At the same time opponents to this figure are saying they have other gospels that are pro-Jewish and more than ten letters of Paul, and that all the letters of Paul respect the Jewish Scriptures.

So we have claims and counterclaims about authentic and false gospels and epistles. How is anyone to decide which is which?

Keep rolling back in time:

Nothing. Blank.

So how do we get further back in time? We can, if we want, return to the first option above. We can begin with what we think we know about the gospels and the letters.

We re-read the gospels and see that their story is set in the mid first century CE. The letters have Paul’s name on them so obviously they are written by the same Paul we read about in Acts. Let’s re-start there. Our beliefs, the traditions, must have come from somewhere. They must have had some basis in fact, yes?

To get back further in time, then, we assume that what the second century texts wanted us to believe about the origins of Christianity were true. Instead of asking, Why did the authors of these texts we read about in the second century want us to believe the gospel narratives were true, we ask, So given that we know these gospel stories have some basis in truth…..

They might have been “true” just as some factions in the second century believed. That’s where our beliefs come from, after all. But …..

How can we tell?

Should we do history forwards? Or backwards? Should we first examine our inherited beliefs about the sources? What happens if we set apart our beliefs and re-frame them as hypotheses to be tested?

Indebted to Markus Vinzent for the notion of “doing history backwards”.

Vinzent, Markus. Writing the History of Early Christianity: From Reception to Retrospection. Cambridge University Press, 2019.

2026-04-12

Overlapping Judean-Christian “Son of Man” Interpretations (Daniel 7)

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by Neil Godfrey

the unburied bodies of the two witnesses and the rejoicing people google art c910f7 1024 300x164 — Getty Image

A while ago I posted a case for the two witnesses in the Book of Revelation referring to two of the leaders of the second Jewish war, or the Bar Kochba war of 132-135 CE. (Part A, Part B, Part C, Part D). For most of us who have been long immersed in the view that ancient Christianity must always have opposed violent Judean rebels against Rome, the view that the two witnesses could possibly refer to Simon Bar Kochba himself and the high priest at the time must seem outrageous. In partial defence of the possibility of that interpretation I would point to certain divisions among Christians at that time: some were very pro-Judean, pro-Old Testament, pro-Torah, while others appear to have been opposed to any form of “Judaizing” and Torah observance. Christians were not a monolithic identity; but nor were Judeans before the rabbinic era.

A prominent rabbi at the time of the Bar Kochba war was remembered in rabbinic literature as holding views that are strikingly similar to those we associate with Christianity. I refer to a “Son of Man” dispute. Who was the “Son of Man” one reads about in the Book of Daniel?

One verse reads: “His throne is sparks of fire” [Dan. 7:9] and another [part of the] verse reads, “until thrones were set up and the Ancient of Days sat” [Dan. 7:9]. This is no difficulty: One was for him and one was for David.
— As we learn in a baraita [non-Mishnaic tannaitic tradition]: One for him and one for David; these are the words of Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Yosethe Galilean said to him: Akiva! Until when will you make the Shekhina profane?! Rather. One was for judging and one was for mercy.
— Did he accept it from him, or did he not?
— Come and hear! One for judging and one for mercy, these are the words of Rabbi Akiva. (BT Hagiga 14a) (Boyarin 140)

Rabbi Akiva is better known for having entered rabbinic tradition as a contemporary of Bar Kochba and as a leader who (erroneously) proclaimed Bar Kochba to be the Messiah. Another of this rabbi’s “mistaken views” (according to later rabbinic teachings) was his claim that the Book of Daniel’s image of one like the Son of Man amidst clouds of heaven approaching the Ancient of Days pointed to a heavenly Davidic King with a throne beside God’s. That is, Daniel’s image was of David as the Messiah and “Son of Man” who sat at the right hand of God. The same rabbinic tradition quickly disputes Akiva’s view, condemning Akiva for daring to think a man could also be a divine figure. The rabbis left on their record that Akiva eventually changed his mind and was restored to “orthodoxy”.

A modern Jewish scholar, Daniel Boyarim, alerts us to a similar claim being put in the mouth of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark:

The crux is his identification of David, the Messiah, as the “Son of Man” who sits at God’s right hand, thus suggesting not only a divine figure but one who is incarnate in a human being as well. “I am [the Messiah] and you shall see ‘the Son of Man’ sitting on the right hand of power and coming in the clouds of heaven” (Mark 14:62). Hence, his objector’s taunt: “Until when will you make the Divine Presence profane?! Rabbi Akiva is seemingly also projecting a divine human, Son of Man, who will be the Messiah. His contemporary Rabbi Yose the Galilean (perhaps a more assiduous reader of the Gospels) strenuously objects to Rabbi Akiva’s “dangerous” interpretation and gives the verse a “Modalist” interpretation. Of course, the Talmud itself must record that Rabbi Akiva changed his mind in order for him to remain “orthodox.” (140)

The rabbinic record does not explicitly say that Akiva equated Bar Kochba with the “Son of Man” messiah of Daniel 7. It only tells us that Akiva proclaimed Bar Kochba as the messiah; it elsewhere records that Akiva identified Daniel 7’s heavenly Son of Man figure with a Davidic Messiah.

I find this little datum interesting. Perhaps of related interest, too, that it is a Galilean rabbi (Joseph) who is made to refute Akiva.

2026-04-05

How Gnostic Myths Arose from The Gospel Narrative?

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by Neil Godfrey

My studies have led me to another item I think will be of a wider interest: a hypothesis to explain the origin of a “heavenly Christ” myth. It is from Christoph Markschies’ Valentinus Gnosticus? (1992). Valentinus, Marcion and “proto-orthodox” Christian leaders migrated to Rome after the Bar Kochba war and engaged in discussions and debates over their respective interpretations of Christianity¹. For those of us who have been familiar only with the literal readings of the gospels we cannot help but wonder how such dialogue could have taken place. Were not Marcion and Valentinus “gnostics” who taught a non-human Jesus? How would “orthodox” teachers have enough in common to discuss anything with them? Well, Markschies offers an explanation. Here is a translation of the key passage:

. . . . We therefore ask first which person is here designated by the name “Jesus,” since the Valentinians are known here to differentiate: they distinguish Jesus, the Savior born of Mary, who effects the διορθώσεις [= the restoration] of this world (τὰ ἐνθάδε) [= the things in this world; these are Plato’s words], from two other figures called “Jesus Christ”: from that Christ who restores the outer Sophia and then takes his place in the Pleroma, and a third, the consort of the outer Sophia. “Εἰσὶν οὖν κατ’ αὐτοὺς τρεῖς Χριστοί.”⁵⁹ . . . . . the Jesus described [in a third century fragment] is only an image of the actually important Christ figure . . . . [translation of pp 92f]

A third “crisis-point” of Valentinus’ theology was probably Christology. . . . The uniqueness and historical contingency of the “Christ-event” posed serious problems. A theory which Valentinus presented at the decisive points of Christology was, for the educated of late antiquity, a contradictio in adiecto: the Logos could not suffer a slave’s death. The students, if they wished to make theology accessible to the “educated” among their hearers, had to remove the offense that the crucified cult-founder represented. Here too, as in the question of the fall of sin, they once again hypostatized the historical processes in order to move away from the actual historical Christ-event onto the archetypal level of the world of ideas, into the aeonic world—so that the emergence of the three Christ-Jesus figures [see side box] can be understood on the three levels of the cosmic drama. The decisive act does not take place on this earth (and thus on the historical level), but already in the “ideal cosmos,” in the realm of the Aeons. The “actual” Christ acts (outside Sophia) and then takes his place in the aeonic world, in which the other Christ figures are his images and perform on other levels exactly what their prototype has already done.

This thesis concerning the emergence of Valentinian gnosis from Valentinus’ theology proves itself when one can answer a further important question: why is it that among the students there arises, relatively consistently, such a mythical intensification of theology, whereas myth still seems to play no role at all for Valentinus himself? First, one must make clear what function myth had in this period: in Valentinus’ lifetime a whole series of philosophical schools promised initiation into the mysteries of God, soul, and immortality with the help of myth. Nothing would be more unhistorical than to want to separate philosophy and theology here by means of our modern distinctions. The introduction of myth made—however paradoxical it may appear today—the teaching of the Valentinians attractive in the first place for certain philosophically interested circles: “ἦλθε καὶ ὁ φιλόσοφος ὡς ἐπίσκοπος, πῶς ἐστίν. [Quote from Aristotle, = “Then the philosopher also came as a bishop—what is he like?”] At the same time, myth increased the orienting function of the theory, since through it, on the one hand, matters became more vivid, and on the other hand even the “unutterable words” (ἄρρητα ῥήματα = [unspeakable words]) concerning the highest principles were illustrated and thereby became “sayable.” The deterministic tendencies of this displacement onto the level of principles simultaneously relieved human beings in their everyday decisions. The myth of the pupils of Valentinus offered the greatest possible relief, since everything that happens in this world is already predetermined by the processes in the world of ideas. I am ready—provided I am a pneumatic—to be so; the human being is thereby largely relieved of ethical responsibility⁷³. Valentinus’ theology evidently did not yet possess this high degree of relief and orientation.

Markschies then explains how the pupils of Valentinus apparently came to expand and elaborate on his own original teachings, thus producing the quite complex gnostic system discussed at length by Irenaeus.

There is nothing here about a “crucifixion in heaven”, as some suggest (and as I have sometimes wondered) was the original meaning in certain passages in Paul’s letters. But it seems to me that according to Markschies the spiritual meaning of the crucifixion was taught through the myth relating to Sophia. Where this hypothesis fits in relation to passages in Paul such as his claim that the cosmic powers crucified Jesus I can only speculate.

Continuing Markschies ….

Between the highly interesting precision based on Plato’s Timaeus at a high philosophical level—which elevates him above many contemporaries . . . .—and the somewhat helpless-comic solution he offers for the problem of the suffering Jesus, there exists a contrast and indeed a difference in level. If one interprets this contrast against the background of the engagement with Hellenistic philosophy within theology—which shapes the entire history of the early Church—one will have to agree with A. v. Harnack, who described as the main problem that of “premature scientification”: Valentinus had already developed certain approaches to solving the classical problem-fields, but—as far as the fragments allow this judgment—no consistent theory; in some areas he perhaps even performed genuine theological pioneering work. In this deficiency lies the inner reason for the transition into the “mythological heresy” of the pupils. They develop their theology of mediation already with an (implicit) method, namely that of consistent (popularizing) Platonization.

. . . .

Naturally, the interpretation presented here of the inner reasons for the development from Valentinus to the Valentinians remains a hypothesis. But it best explains, in my view, a historical finding that clearly reveals continuities between Valentinus and his school and at the same time equally clear discontinuities.

This explanation is the reverse of Earl Doherty’s view that the crucifixion narrative was a product of neoplatonic ideas and later “mythologized” into an earthly story.

One might assume that the Markschies view presupposes a historically “true” narrative, but I would not rush to that conclusion. We need to keep in mind that all of this suddenly breaks into the scene in the wake of the Bar Kochba War and Trajan’s massacres preceding that. The Gospel of Mark Jesus is clearly (to me at least) a personified figure of Israel, a “son of man” figure from Daniel placed in a narrative with a theological meaning. Marcion’s Jesus is a clear antithesis of the Judean god. These are all theological figures. Historical origins cannot be assumed.

¹ “‘Christian'” teachers and schools emerge in Rome around the mid-second century ce, after the Bar Kokhba revolt, and as a consequence of it.” (Livesey 200), and “In my study on Marcion I have pointed out that, prior to the end of the second Jewish war of the years 132–135, we do not know of early Christian teachers who sojourn, live, or teach at Rome. From what early Christian authors tell us, it was the disaster of the Bar Kokhba war that moved people and made them re-locate from Palestine and Samaria to Asia, and further to Greece and Rome.” (Vinzent 96)

Livesey, Nina E. The Letters of Paul in Their Roman Literary Context: Reassessing Apostolic Authorship. Cambridge University Press, 2024.
Markschies, Christoph Johannes. Valentinus Gnosticus? Untersuchungen zur valentinianischen Gnosis: mit einem Kommentar zu den Fragmenten Valentins. Mohr Siebeck, 1992.
Vinzent, Markus. “Orthodoxy and Heresy: Misnomers and Misnamers.” Forum: Foundations and Facets. Third Series 10, no. 1 (2021): 91–108.

2026-04-03

The Abomination of Desolation in Jesus’ Prophecy – More Scholars Who Support Its Surprising Identity

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by Neil Godfrey

Bronze head of Hadrian found in the River Thames in London 199x300 — Bronze head of Hadrian found in the River Thames in London. Now in the British Museum. – Wikipedia

I’ve come across more items of a more general interest in the course of my formal studies these last few days: a very old and a very publication favourably arguing that the “abomination of desolation” can only refer to a statue set up in the Jerusalem temple by Hadrian in the 130s CE.

Some readers here will be aware of Hermann Detering’s proposal that the “abomination of desolation” that was to be “standing where it ought not” referred to the time of the Bar Kochba War, 132-135 CE, and the Roman emperor Hadrian’s supposedly setting up of a statue of Jupiter/Zeus in the Jewish Temple. See Little Apocalypse and the Bar Kochba Revolt.

Well, Hermann Detering’s name and the article I discussed in the above link appeared recently (2024) in a footnote of a book chapter by Étienne Nodet, “Destructions du Temple de Jérusalem”. But what was most interesting was that Nodet was pointing out that the same view (that the prophecy in Mark 13 and Matthew 24 refers to Hadrian erecting a pagan statue in the Jerusalem temple) was made as early as 1845 by none other than the great, pioneering New Testament scholar, Ferdinand Christian Baur! New Testament scholars have followed a good many of Baur’s leads but this particular one fell between the cracks.

Nodet introduces an alternative possibility that the statue erected in the temple was actually a statue of Hadrian himself. In the light of Thomas Witulski’s research there is probably no major difference between Jupiter and Hadrian: see the post, Hadrian the God.

I have translated Nodet:

Finally, one must mention a collection of ancient traditions entitled Chronicon Paschale, which indicates that Hadrian destroyed the Temple, which had been rebuilt⁴². Taken in isolation, such information would carry little weight, but it combines with a statement by Jerome: he affirms that an equestrian statue of Hadrian was erected at the site of the Holy of Holies and that it is none other than the “Abomination of Desolation” prophesied by Jesus (In Matth. 24:15); this must evidently be connected with the statue erected by Apostomos⁴³.

. . .

In Luke’s version, without profanation, the prophecy may refer to the war of 70, but in Matthew–Mark, the “Abomination of Desolation” of Daniel signifies a formal profanation of the Temple, alluding to the idol erected by Antiochus IV mentioned above. To situate the prediction of Jesus, one must eliminate the attempt of Caligula to have his statue placed in the Temple, since his death at the beginning of 41 interrupted this project⁴⁶, as well as the assault of Titus and the fire of 70, since that was not strictly speaking a profanation. One must therefore return to Jerome’s interpretation of a prophecy of Jesus, which had already been proposed by F. Baur in 1845, but, like modern scholars, he rightly considered that it had been composed after the fact⁴⁷. The consequences for the dating of the Gospels are obvious, but little used.

42 Cf. L. Dindorf, Historici graeci minores, Leipzig 1870, vol. I, p. 474. The sources on the causes of the Bar Kokhba revolt are sparse, but there was certainly a profanation of the Holy of Holies, cf. E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People, vol. I, pp. 535–542, hence an analogy with the Maccabean revolt.

43 There are good reasons to think that shortly after the foundation of Aelia Capitolina an equestrian statue of Hadrian was erected in the Holy of Holies or in its place; see D.-M. Cabaret, La topographie de la Jérusalem antique: essais sur l’urbanisme fossile, défenses et portes, du 2e s. av. au 2e s. ap. J.-C., Louvain 2020, pp. 260–288. [my note: Apostomos was the name given in rabbinic records to Hadrian]

. . . .

46. The affair, recounted by Philo and Josephus, is presented in detail by E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People, vol. I, pp. 394–397.

47. See F. C. Baur, Kritische Untersuchungen über die kanonischen Evangelien, ihr Verhältniss zueinander, ihren Charakter und Ursprung, Tübingen 1851, p. 122; he was little followed, no doubt because of his personal discredit, but one should note the detailed study by H. Detering, “The Synoptic Apocalypse (Mark 13 par.): A Document from the Time of Bar Kokhba,” Journal of Higher Criticism 7 (2000), pp. 161–210.

Here is Baur’s discussion, again translated. For Baur, Matthew was living at the time of the Bar Kochba war and wrote of what he understood to be the culmination of the tribulations before the end, while Luke wrote of the first war, 66-70, and the beginning of sorrows.

If Jesus cannot have spoken as the evangelist has him speak in chapter 24, then the question deserves all the more to be considered whether the event which is here presented as the sign of the Parousia is in fact the destruction of Jerusalem at all.

According to the presentation, the discourse of Jesus is connected with the destruction of Jerusalem, which is yet to occur; but the discourse itself does not intend to give a description of that destruction, but rather to set forth only the signs of the Parousia, which takes place only after the destruction of Jerusalem and presupposes it.

If one now asks whether the phenomena indicated in relation to the sign of the Parousia fit the time of the destruction of Jerusalem, one must almost throughout give a negative answer. The commentators unanimously observe that before the destruction of Jerusalem neither false messiahs nor significant wars among nations, such as are meant in vv. 6 and 7, can be demonstrated. Nor is anything more precise known about persecutions of Christians through which many Christians might have been led into apostasy.

How perfectly, on the other hand, does all this fit the Jewish war under Hadrian! At that time it was that Bar Kokhba was generally regarded by the people, who flocked to him in crowds, as the Messiah who was to free them from the yoke of Roman rule, and rabbis such as Akiba gave every support to belief in him. Not only in Palestine did a general uprising of the Jews occur—which the Romans were able to suppress only with the greatest exertion in a war that seems to have lasted several years, in which Jerusalem had first to be reconquered (around the year 134)—but the spirit of unrest spread everywhere where Jews were in the Roman Empire and broke out in secret or open attacks on the Romans; and the support which Bar Kokhba received alone must prove how deeply the nation was involved in his undertaking. “Almost the whole world,” says Cassius Dio (LXIX, 14), “was set in motion by the uprising of the Jews.” Münter, Der jüdische Krieg unter den Kaisern Trajan und Hadrian (1821), p. 66.

What the discourse of Jesus contains about persecutions of Christians also receives thereby a new light. Bar Kokhba treated the Christians, who did not wish to take part in the uprising against the Romans, with the greatest cruelty, as is reported by Justin Martyr (Apol. I, 31), Eusebius of Caesarea (H.E. 4.6), and others; and according to the assertion of the Talmudists, many at that time are said to have denied the Christian faith. Münter, ibid., p. 55.

Still more remarkable, however, is how in this connection even the βδέλυγμα τῆς ἐρημώσεως (“abomination of desolation”) first seems to receive its proper meaning. The interpreters who think only of the destruction of Jerusalem under Titus have not yet succeeded in taking the expression in a sense corresponding to its precise wording.

Baur then addresses the arguments of those who attempted to place the prophecy in the time of the first destruction of Jerusalem (70 CE):

If, according to Heinrich August Wilhelm Meyer, the phrase refers generally to the abominable devastation on the temple site which historically occurred through the Romans at and after the conquest of the temple, then one may rightly say with Wilhelm Martin Leberecht de Wette that the term does not fit this at all. But if, with de Wette following Hugo Grotius, one thinks of the Roman army with its standards, which were an abomination to the Jews, then Meyer can object that the words contain nothing pointing to this. Nor is it clear why precisely the standards should be singled out as something so especially abominable, and even in this way the expression is not exhausted, since one cannot assume that the Roman standards remained planted on the temple site after its destruction.

But only the events of Hadrian’s time can make sense of the prophecy, Baur continues….

The expression receives its adequate meaning only through the report that Hadrian, precisely at that time, during the aforementioned Jewish war, either before or after it, set up the statue of Capitoline Jupiter on the place where formerly the temple of Solomon had stood (εἰς τὸν τῷ θεῷ τόπον ναὸν τῷ Διΐ ἔθηκεν, Cassius Dio LXIX.12; Jerome, Commentary on Isaiah 1.2: ubi quondam erat templum et religio Dei, ibi Hadriani statua et Jovis idolum collocatum est), from which Jerusalem also received the pagan name Aelia Capitolina.

How striking, then, is the expression used by the evangelist if the statue of the pagan god stood as a permanent monument on the very site where formerly the true God was worshipped! This was the truly abominable aspect of the devastation already accomplished, with which for the Jew and Jewish Christian everything was connected that made paganism as such abhorrent. This extreme, the worst that could happen, is therefore highlighted by the evangelist as the most evident signal of the catastrophe now fully unfolding.

To grasp the discourse at its central point, one must place oneself entirely on the standpoint of the event as presented by the evangelist. The form of prophecy brings it about that everything spoken of here is presented as something still future. Yet it cannot have been purely future, since what had already happened determined him to direct his gaze into the future and to perceive in the present the future developing within it.

But where, one must ask, in his presentation does what has already happened separate itself from what is yet to happen? Since he places the Parousia, which comes at the end of all things, in such an immediate relation to the θλῖψις (tribulation)—as v. 29 proves—and since he expressly says (v. 22) that for the sake of the elect the days of this tribulation were shortened, then at the time of composing this discourse the μεγάλη θλῖψις (“great tribulation”) cannot yet have run a long course; accordingly, that βδέλυγμα τῆς ἐρημώσεως can scarcely yet have been set up in the holy place.

But even this assumption is not necessary. According to Cassius Dio (ibid.), the great uprising of the Jews broke out precisely because Hadrian had already begun to carry out his plan to rebuild the destroyed city as a Roman colony and to erect the image of Jupiter in place of its temple. The uprising intervened, but it was foreseeable that after its suppression what had already been decided would be carried out all the more decisively—as indeed, according to Eusebius (H.E. 4.6), the founding of Aelia followed immediately after the end of the war.

What if, then, we assume that the author wrote in the midst of the uprising? Only thus do we fully understand how he could point with such emphasis to the βδέλυγμα τῆς ἐρημώσεως as the decisive turning point of the catastrophe now unfolding. As certainly as he, as a Christian, could regard Bar Kokhba only as a false prophet, so certainly could he not doubt the victory of the Romans; but as a Jewish Christian he could see in the profanation of the holy place by a pagan idol only the worst that could yet happen. If it comes to that, then there can no longer be any doubt that now the μεγάλη θλῖψις begins, upon which the Parousia immediately follows.

It is clear to see how, from this point, his entire conception of this great catastrophe is shaped. It divides for him, through the erection of the βδέλυγμα, into two periods: the one being the ὠδῖνες (“birth pangs,” v. 8), the other the θλῖψις μεγάλη itself. As he proceeds from definite phenomena given in reality, so in the second period the same fundamental conception appears again, only in its highest intensification. The general flight, in which each thinks only of saving himself, can only be a time of unrest and wars like the first period; and just as that period has its driving principle in belief in a false Messiah, so in the second period the most characteristic feature is that ψευδόχριστοι and ψευδοπροφῆται (“false Christs and false prophets”) seek to lead all into error and delusion.

This feature stands out so clearly in the description of the two periods that, if one must choose between the time of the first destruction of Jerusalem and the time of Bar Kokhba, one can only decide for the latter.

Admittedly, Luke in the parallel passage (chapter 21) can only have meant the first destruction of Jerusalem. But what does that prove for the explanation of Matthew? At this point we perceive only the different standpoint of the two evangelists, partly in relation to belief in the Parousia, partly in relation to the events then occurring in Palestine. For the non-Palestinian writer these events could not have had the same interest in themselves; moreover, he saw the expectation of the Parousia fulfilled only in the still-future βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ. And just as for him the increasingly universal inclusion of the Gentiles belonged essentially to this kingdom, so for him the first destruction of Jerusalem had all the more the significance of a divine judgment (21:23), which, in the same measure that it testified to the rejection of messianic salvation by the Jews, guaranteed the inclusion of the Gentiles in the kingdom.

While Luke thus had the interest of fixing the beginning point of the great catastrophe—whose course extended from the destruction of Jerusalem to the Parousia—for the author of the Gospel of Matthew everything in his conception was concentrated at the point where the tribulation, whose pressure he felt keenly in the immediate present, could end in its highest intensity only with the Parousia of Christ.

If the interpretation of Matthew 24 attempted here is correct—as I do not doubt—then we would thereby have a very definite date for the composition of our canonical Gospel of Matthew: it would fall in the years 130–134, and I would not know what could be objected against this assumption.

If, according to this assumption, even the oldest of our canonical gospels—which the others already presuppose—cannot be placed any earlier, then it also provides a standard for the age of the others, and one can all the less be surprised that the data for determining the time of their origin do not reach further back.

Baur, Ferdinand Christian. Kritische untersuchungen über die kanonischen evangelien, ihr verhältniss zu einander, ihren charakter und ursprung. With Internet Archive. Tübingen, L.F. Fues, 1847. http://archive.org/details/kritischeuntersu0000baur. — pp 605-609

Nodet, Étienne. “Destructions du Temple de Jérusalem.” In Aux Origines Judéennes Du Christianisme Études En L’honneur De Simon Claude Mimouni Pour Son Soixante-Quinzième Anniversaire, edited by José Costa, David Hamidović, and Pierluigi Piovanelli. Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Hautes Etudes, Sciences Religieuses. Brepols Publishers, 2024. — pp 467-486

2026-03-24

Understanding Why Narratives about Jesus Differ — and Some Implications

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by Neil Godfrey

Here is another snippet from my studies research that also has a place here . . . .

Ian Mills has a newly published book, The Hypothesis of the Gospels: Narrative Traditions in Hellenistic Reading Culture, that explains one important facet of the literary culture in which the gospels were written. It is a distillation from his 2021 PhD thesis, Rewriting the Gospel: The Synoptics Among Pluriform Literary Traditions.

“Hypothesis” in the title is a transliteration of the Greek word used by ancient authors to describe a well-known basic story outline that could be taken up and rewritten with variations by other authors. Ancient poets and playwrights, for example, would sometimes write different accounts of a legendary tale or myth, and as long as they retained “the essential characters, settings, and events of a particular narrative” they were free to make any changes they saw fit. The “most basic elements” of a story were its “hypothesis”. Order of events might change; even “who did what” might change; scenes might be added; and so forth. It was understood to be a kind of literary competition. An author would attempt to write a better or more relevant version of a well-known story. In other words, the authors of our gospels belonged to a wider literary culture that was familiar with the practice of re-writing basic stories.

Plato and Xenophon wrote quite different biographies of Socrates, for example:

These rough contemporaries of Justin, Irenaeus, and Clement report the same basic reading of Plato and Xenophon. Overlapping accounts of Socrates, they agree, are evidence of literary rivalry between their authors. . . . These readers all share the assumption that writing a book on an established hypothesis is a conventionally competitive act. (155)

The gospels . . . reflect a certain competitiveness inherent in writing on an established hypothesis. (Hypothesis, 149)

How often have we heard or read that the differences in the accounts of Jesus are the result of authors being exposed to different oral traditions. Well, now we have a good reason to rethink that assumption. If an author felt confident enough to write a better account of Jesus for any reason, then we have our explanation for why different gospels sometimes changed the order of events, sometimes added or subtracted certain episodes, and so forth.

I did not see Mills make this implication of his study explicit in The Hypothesis of the Gospels but he did point out in his earlier thesis that there is no need to call upon oral tradition to explain what are clearly features common to the literary practices extant at the time the gospels were composed. The gospels are well-known for consisting of blocks of mini-anecdotes. There is no need to assume these encapsulate what had been passed on orally since authors of the day wrote like that in other narratives — including “biographies” of philosophers or teachers.

The episodic structure evinced in the gospels was a creative choice that grew increasingly popular across various genres in the first and second centuries CE. The organization of Jesus’ ministry into discrete pericopes, therefore, does not justify the form critical view of the gospels as compilations of independently circulating oral traditions. (Rewriting, 198)

There is one other point I would like to add to Mills’ study. If well known narratives could be rewritten to the extent we find among ancient authors, then surely it follows that those basic narratives were not “set-in-stone truths”. They were tales or myths or literary creations that were open to rewriting. Mills does say that even the genre of history in ancient times contained basic narratives that could be written but the examples he points to are the Trojan War and the Theban Cycle. My understanding is that those particular histories were so distant in time, stretching back to the “age of heroes”, that those tales were indeed subject to diverse version histories. I am not so sure more recent “real” histories would have been open to rewriting of that kind. The second century Lucian, for example, savagely mocked historians as potential liars. That’s something I would like to read a bit more about. Maybe I should start with this old post: https://vridar.org/2019/11/25/two-more-reasons-ancient-historians-fabricated-history/

Mills, Ian N. 2021. “Rewriting the Gospel: The Synoptics Among Pluriform Literary Traditions.” Ph.D., Duke University.
Mills, Ian N. 2025. The Hypothesis of the Gospels: Narrative Traditions in Hellenistic Reading Culture. Fortress Press.

2026-03-23

Once more on Alexander and Rufus, the sons of Simon of Cyrene

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by Neil Godfrey

We are familiar enough with the claims that the mention of the sons of Simon of Cyrene who carried the cross of Jesus indicates that they were real people: the first audience of the Gospel of Mark must have known them personally because there is no other mention of them in the other gospels.

Well, I just came across the following while reading for another project . . . . .

Similarly with a certain Simon of Cyrene, a passerby coming in from the country, who is compelled to carry Jesus’s cross. Despite the fact that he is given an identification by place of origin, he is also identified through his sons, Alexander and Rufus (15:21), who are not further described. Mentioning them here in this way implies that they must be well known. But to whom? To Mark’s readers? But I would point out that it is not necessary to assume that Alexander and Rufus were in fact well known to Mark’s readers, because naming them in this way still performs the literary function of assuring the reader that the scene with Simon of Cyrene is attested by his better known sons. If Alexander and Rufus as the sons of this Simon were in fact so well known to Mark’s readers, he would not have had to mention them at all. (Miller 2017, 395)

Miller, Merrill P. 2017. “The Social Logic of the Gospel of Mark: Cultural Persistence and Social Escape in a Postwar Time.” In Redescribing the Gospel of Mark, edited by Barry S. Crawford and Merrill P. Miller. Society of Biblical Literature.

2026-02-16

The Gospel of Mark as a Dark, Honest Beginning for Confused and Disoriented Jesus Followers?

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by Neil Godfrey

If we read the Gospel of Mark as one of the foundational documents of what became “orthodox Christianity” — it is, after all, widely acknowledged to be the earliest of our canonical gospels — we might do well to read it “on its own terms”, and not through the perspectives of Matthew, Luke and John. In 2023 I attempted to explain what happens when we do this: Reading the Gospel of Mark Alone — Imagine No Other Gospels. Read alone, in isolation from the other gospels, it is most emphatically “a dark gospel” that leaves the modern reader in some despair, horror and fear:

— Jesus appears from nowhere, witnesses the rupture of the cosmos, is driven by an unexplained power, utters a call that compels hearers to drop all their livelihoods and instantly follow him, hides the meaning of his words from his audiences, rebukes both spirit and human powers who claim to know him, even tormenting those with such spirits by convulsions and screams, terrifies his followers when he displays unnatural powers as when he walks on water and stills a storm, then finally abandons his fearfully mute devotees to a messenger who tells them he’s left for Galilee.

Modern readers, however, prefer to “study” Mark’s gospel: as a gateway to historical data about Jesus, as a theological narrative that fleshed out the writings of Paul, as an attack on The Twelve, and so forth.

Let’s step back a moment. Imagine you are in an audience who had never heard a reading of a written narrative about Jesus before. Maybe, if you want to imagine Mark as a second century gospel, you can imagine, instead, that you have only previously heard Marcion’s gospel about a Jesus who was a son of a higher Good God. How are you going to react to your first hearing of the narrative about Jesus as per the Gospel of Mark?

I suggest you will hear it as a story. You will not hear it as a theological puzzle to be deciphered by a theologian, or as a stunning literary irony to be analyzed by a literary critic, or as the earliest attempt to document the life of a person of special interest to a historian.

You are going to hear a story of a Jesus no-one can quite grasp or comprehend, a Jesus who leaves his followers confused, a story of disciples whose earlier confidence had been shattered and who ended up fearful and speechless. No-one even saw the resurrected Jesus. Yet in all their confusion and disillusionment they still had faith.

Imagine if the Gospel of Mark had been written for survivors of the direst of calamities — in the wake of the events of 70 CE perhaps, but possibly even in the wake of repeated messianic failures and dashed hopes of the rebellions under Trajan, and then the final cruel desolation left by Hadrian in 135 CE. The hope many had found in John’s Apocalypse had been dashed, the earlier promise that Jesus would come had been found to be another mysterious figure of speech like all those other words of his that seemed so clear but only to “the blind”.

Can we imagine the Gospel of Mark being written for those who remained faithful despite all their failed hopes, despite the collapse of all they thought they had understood about Jesus and their own destiny as his followers?

If Marcion had responded by turning his back on the Jewish Scriptures, did “Mark” respond by inverting the supremacist promises of the Jewish scriptures, finding fulfilled victory ironically in the crucifixion?

If that was the origin of the Gospel of Mark it becomes obvious why it could not be allowed to stand as the last word. Clarity and reassuring signs of faith are necessary for a stable and enduring religion. Enter Matthew and Luke for that purpose. John got rid of apocalyptic hopes entirely and offered a faith where fulfillment was found in the here and now.

2026-01-26

A Second Allard Pierson translation

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by Neil Godfrey

I have added another translation to the Allard Pierson page. This one is titled The Sermon on the Mount and Other Synoptic Fragments [= De bergrede en andere synoptische fragmenten]. The first part of the book is a discussion of the flawed methods traditionally used to study the gospels, many of which have been repeatedly addressed on this blog. So we’re not alone, and our critiques are not new.

2026-01-24

Allard PIERSON — Two Works Translated to English

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by Neil Godfrey

Two works of the pioneering “Dutch Radical” Allard Pierson are now available in English:

The Sermon on the Mount and Other Synoptic Fragments, 1878

Contents:

— On Certain Flaws in the Method of Criticism of the Synoptic Gospels (Parts I and II)

— Synoptic fragments

—- I. The Sermon on the Mount.

—- II. On fasting

—- III. In the grainfield

Original Dutch file: De Bergrede en andere synoptische fragmenten (I used this text for the translation)
See also the Google books file: De bergrede en andere synoptische fragmenten

Also by Allard Pierson, with Samuel Adrian Naber:

Probabilities [= Verisimilia], 1886

Original Dutch file: Verisimilia at archive.org

—–

Schweitzer, Albert. 2001. The Quest of the Historical Jesus. Fortress Press, on Pierson and Naber, and Verisimilia:

The radical Dutch thinkers denied the authenticity of the Pauline epistles. They could not accept that the thoughts contained in the epistles to the Romans, Corinthians and Galatians were the product of the middle of the first century and that they reflected the views of primitive Christianity. However, most of them still believed in the existence of Jesus, even though they maintained that it was the disciples who first made him into the Messiah. Only S. Hoekstra, Allard Pierson and Samuel Adrian Naber doubted whether the Gospels contained any historical information. (356)

In the Verisimilia Pierson and Naber offer the mythical interpretation; however, they hint at it more than developing it and giving reasons for it. (528)

2026-01-22

Why Jesus Was Made a Personification of Israel and the Church

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by Neil Godfrey

I have been intrigued by the idea that the Gospel of Mark narrates Jesus as a personification of the ideal Israel. What prompted the author to write about Jesus this way?

The answer to that question is found in the documents of the second century. (Bear with me: I am of the view that the Gospel of Mark was most likely written in the middle of the second century, post the Bar Kochba war, post Marcion — and in response to both.)

Justin Martyr, writing around the same time, wrote that the Jewish Bible declared the Messiah was to bear the name of “Israel”. He was referring to a prophecy in Isaiah about the Suffering Servant. A little later Heracleon, a student of Valentinus, made a similar point on the Gospel of John, that Jesus was understood to be a symbol, this time of the church.

Justin in Dialogue with Trypho, 123:9

I continued: “Again in Isaiah, if you have ears to hear it, God, speaking of Christ in parable, calls Him Jacob and Israel. He speaks thus: ‘Jacob is my servant, I will uphold Him; Israel is mine elect, I will put my Spirit upon Him, and He shall bring forth judgment to the Gentiles. He shall not strive, nor cry, neither shall any one hear His voice in the street: a bruised reed He shall not break, and smoking flax He shall not quench; but He shall bring forth judgment to truth: He shall shine, and shall not be broken till He have set judgment on the earth. And in His name shall the Gentiles trust.’

Heracleon (170s CE) is cited by the third century Origen as declaring that Jesus’ resurrection is the foreshadowing of the Church and its resurrection. Origen agrees, but this is a much easier link to make since it is based on the clearly symbolic motifs in the Gospel of John.

As for the Gospel of Mark, what interests me is that the idea of the messiah embodying the suffering servant of Israel was part of the discussion around the time of Marcion.

Now Marcion’s messiah or christ was not a “type” of Israel but an antithesis of everything to be found in the Jewish bible. If one had in mind to counter Marcion’s gospel, one could not do better than portray a christ who was embedded in a prophecy in Isaiah.

Hence the Gospel of Mark’s Jesus, like Israel in symbolic form, experiences

an exodus through the waters
40 days in the wilderness, tempted
giving life and healing, including to nearby gentiles
the proclaiming of the divine message
is conquered by enemies — crucified — destroyed (the rock-hewn tomb of Jesus recalls another Isaianic text about the destruction of the temple)

Many studies demonstrate this Gospel’s comprehensive intertextuality with Isaiah.

One might even think of the author quilting a life of Jesus from themes and images in Isaiah (and other OT books). Why? As a rebuttal to Marcion? As an attempt to find a new meaning in the wake of the wars against the Judeans climaxing in the years of Bar Kochba? I suspect so. Marcion’s efforts have been interpreted as inspired by the same motivation, but he went too far in opposition to the OT for some.

It is surely clear that interpreting the Gospel of Mark’s Jesus this way is not a modern concoction. It surely emerged in a time when that notion of Christ was part of the broader discussion.

2026-01-17

The Gospel of John Shaped by Greek-Judean Philosophy and the God Dionysus

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by Neil Godfrey

john philo dionysus.001 1024x453 — Many have written about the influences of Philo and the god Dionysus on the Gospel of John, but for extensive detail and placing it in the broader context it is hard to surpass Julius Grill.

Anyone interested in the Gospel of John and its

strong themes of the god Dionysus on Jesus
indebtedness to Philo’s discussion of the Logos/Word
closely related Persian, Buddhist and Hindu concepts
very different Jesus from that of the synoptic gospels
and analysis of why the gospel was written

will find something of note in the two volumes on the Fourth Evangelist by Julius Grill — now “translated” from the German. I was alerted to Grill’s study by Robert Vipper who wrote:

A number of studies in Gospel criticism (particularly noteworthy is the work of Grill: Untersuchungen ϋber die Entstehung des vierten Evangeliums [=Studies on the Origin of the Fourth Gospel], 1908 and 1924) established the fact of the late origin of these works and their dependence on religious-philosophical currents in the literature of the 2nd century. (Vipper, 120 – translation, my bolding)

But a warning! I said that I “translated” Grill’s study. It might almost be better to say that I have “transcribed” it from the German. My initial motivation was to have a copy for my personal use only. I did not expect to make it public at the time. In a strenuous effort to avoid the AI translator from creative whims when translating, I set the parameters so strict that the result reads more like a word-for-word transposition from German to English. This can make it a tiring read. But for what it’s worth, here it is for anyone interested enough to make the effort.

The English language files are available at Julius GRILL – Origin of the Gospel of John Translated (see the right margin for this and other translation links).

Vipper, Robert Iu. Rim i rannee khristianstvo
[Rome and Early Christianity]. Moscow: Izdatelʹstvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1954.

2026-01-15

Comment on Gabriele Boccaccini’s Discussion about Nina Livesey and Paul’s Letters

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by Neil Godfrey

Boccaccini 243x300 — Gabriele Boccaccini

Here I am making a few responses to Professor Gabriele Boccaccini’s discussion that I translated — see the previouso post. (Note: I did not make the transcription — that was supplied by the homesite of the video, and it was machine generated. I used AI to assist in translating it.)

The first point of note was the following:

7:15
Nina Livesey is a colleague from Rome. Her book, however, needs to be clarified somewhat, because it does not actually claim outright that Paul did not exist. She presents a fairly nuanced version of this issue.

Yes indeed.

Boccaccini, as did Livesey herself, explained to audiences what has gone before in the scholarship. It’s a bit like knowing one’s history. To be ignorant of history is to remain forever a child, someone said. To contribute meaningfully to a discussion it is important to take a little time to listen to what has been said before one chimes in with new ideas. . . .

8:46
When one wants to assess the seriousness of certain arguments, one must place them within a line of discussion. Scholarly hypotheses do not arise because one of us wakes up one morning and suddenly produces some radical novelty.

Another point worth keeping in mind . . .

28:04
What I would also like to clarify is that there was never a single, unified Christianity that later fractured. Such a monolithic religion never existed

Yet it seems to me that many scholars have written forgetting this point. This arises from the assumption that the gospels are the product of an oral tradition that began with historical events, and that passed on those historical events, and that gospel authors were keen to pick up those traditions and with pious intent (and exaggerations) record them for posterity. Paul’s letters, it is assumed, were related in some way to the group behind that oral tradition. That is all assumption. It is based on another assumption — that the gospels represent sincere attempts to portray a historical figure.

Readers impatient to get to the nitty gritty of Boccaccini’s discussion of Livesey’s thesis, begin here . . . .

34:01
This brings us, at least in part, to the substance of Nina Livesey’s book.

Boccaccini’s difficulties with dating Paul’s letters to the second century are set out in this slide:

Here I think Boccaccini has missed a key point. Livesey is asking us to consider the scenario where the letters did not exist singly prior to their inclusion in a corpus. No. The letters were written from the beginning to be part of a corpus. That answers B’s first criticism above.

On the second point, I wonder if B is assuming that the present state of the letters is the same as their original state. I think there is much evidence for rival theological groups tampering and altering the letters after they were presented by Marcion. So I think that answers B’s second difficulty.

The third point (Hellenistic origin should be better understood as “Greek/gentile origin” to avoid confusion with “the Hellenistic period”) is pointing to what is known as the “new perspective” on Paul. Further on in the discussion B explains his point when he introduces the last slide (1:41:54) in his presentation: he argues that some “recent” scholarship argues for the “Jewishness” of Paul and that such a view of Paul is best explained as a first century phenomenon. B argues that the NP on Paul is a good explanation for how the “Jesus movement” developed, how it shifted from Jewishness to something more open. My response is that the singular “Jesus movement” is an assumption: see 28:04 above, the same point B himself made.

Two responses: 1. the New Perspective on Paul (that he was more Jewish in his thinking than generally realized) is a hypothesis, and interpretation, and not a fact. It is open to revision or even being discarded; 2. If the NP proves to be valid, it may mean little more in the end than that Marcionism needs to be understood with more nuance. NP is a hypothesis and not a fact that must be weighed in assessing a date for the letters.

B in the following is continuing with his assumption that the letters existed singly prior to being found in a corpus:

38:13
Why is Paul transmitted as a corpus? Obviously, transmitting an author as a corpus has the function of homogenizing the author’s thought.

and again,

1:12:59
Paul cannot be transmitted as a single, isolated letter; Paul must always be seen as a corpus. The function of the corpus is always to homogenize. .

Letters were known to be published as a corpus. Pliny the Younger’s letters were published as such. So were Seneca’s as Livesey, I think, points out. I am not sure that there is any reason to think that the original corpus contained contradictions that needing “homogenizing”.

39:51
Thus, if Marcion and later the Church Fathers attribute a corpus of writings to a particular author, this means that the author was already famous.

40:06
. . . knowledge of Paul must predate the moment when the corpus itself is formed—pushing us back to the beginning of the second century or even earlier.

Literature has had a history of being attributed to hitherto unknown or at least relatively unknown persons who thereby take on a new persona and become famous. See my comment at https://vridar.org/2026/01/12/nina-livesey-and-the-authenticity-of-pauls-letters-a-critical-response/#comment-358607. Robert Vipper wrote in his work on the origin of the Christian literature:

How this book came into the hands of Marcion, whence the legend of the apostle Paul and the very name Paul arose—these questions will hardly ever be resolved. Even for the contemporaries of the publication of the “Epistles” this was a difficult riddle; 25-30 years after their appearance the author of the “Acts of the Apostles” could advance on the question of the personality and activity of the apostle Paul only hypotheses, conjectures, combinations. Judging by how highly Marcion valued the collection of letters of the apostle Paul, one may suppose that he believed both in the real existence of the apostle himself and in the work accomplished by him. But another supposition is also possible: Marcion, a native of Pontic Sinope, may have had memories of a remarkable Asia Minor organizer and preacher named Paul, into whose mouth the compiler of the “Epistles” (whether Marcion himself or someone else from his school) placed his own thoughts, his own system of doctrine, in the same way that Plato set forth the entire rich content of his philosophy—the proof of the immortality of the soul, the hymn to universal Eros, the teaching of the best state—through the person of a single, in his eyes incomparable, holy, divine teacher, Socrates. (p. 186 translation)

Back to B:

57:50
. . . What seems most paradoxical to me is that some of these texts, which do not fit naturally into the second century, reproduce concepts and ideas that run counter to the very purpose of forming the corpus—ideas that go against Marcionite theology . . .

. . .

1:24:01
At least some of the material in these letters gives good, well-founded reasons for thinking it comes from the first century,

1:24:07
because it reflects that kind of debate and discussion.

I think this is somewhat circular. Is it on the basis of other NT documents whose dates are also questionable that it is believed particular topics were of interest in the first century? We know from Justin Martyr, for example, that the question of circumcision was indeed a hot topic in the middle of the second century. Paul’s letters are topical for this time. See also Hermann Detering’s works for more examples.

2:08:09
Finally, regarding Acts: it is unlikely to be a simple anti-Marcionite reaction.

2:12:00
Acts presents a very Jewish Paul—something difficult for a second-century author aligned with later church positions.

2:13:09
No one invents something that causes embarrassment.

On the contrary, if I recollect correctly, a good number of scholars have pointed to Acts being a catholiczing work, a narrative that aimed to “homogenize” different Christian sects or groupings, into one faith. That’s not a “simple anti-Marcionite reaction”; it is a constructive and judicious reaction. A Marcionite figure was embraced, but he had some changes in his clothes. No-one invents embarrassments for oneself, but readers can often misjudge what was written and prematurely dismiss it as if the writer was him/herself in knots.

2026-01-12

Nina Livesey and the Authenticity of Paul’s Letters: A Critical Response

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

Here is an English translation of the transcript of Professor Boccaccini discussing the main idea of Nina Livesey’s book, The Letters of Paul in their Roman Literary Context: Reassessing Apostolic Authorship. [I took the machine-generated transcript from the Ora Sapere! site for translation.]

I have included images and translations of Boccaccini’s slides in his presentation. —

Watch on the Youtube site for comments and links to related videos, including others programs in the Ora Sapere! series.

Translated transcript

0:00
[Music] Today I am able to understand it and to admit that order can arise from chance, and that the first step is to bring the human being back to the center.

0:15
Not predestined, but imperfect products of events and of chemical infatuations.

0:24
The needles hidden in a straw man are found more easily if you burn him with a torch; the burst of flame washes over my face, and you teach me light, hope, and also reason, which is made of science—and I can no longer live without it.

0:41
[Music]

0:49
[Applause] [Music]

0:56
[Applause] [Music] When I have a mystical crisis at fifty-five,
I hope you come to arrest me. I will have a mystical crisis at fifty-five; I hope you come to arrest me. I will have a mystical crisis at fifty-five, from this moment on.

1:47
And here we are. So—[Music]

1:53
A few months ago a book was published, a book by the academic Nina Livesey and this book, let’s say, put forward a thesis that caused quite a stir:

2:12
the idea that Paul—indeed, the author of the Pauline letters according to traditional attribution—might actually be a non-historical figure.

2:25
When the book came out, I avoided doing a live broadcast immediately after finishing it, because, given the topic and the nature of the proposal, I decided to look for an expert—with a capital “E”—to deal with the issue.

2:44
And finally the moment has come when we have that expert with a capital “E.” So I would like to welcome Professor Gabriele Boccaccini, author of numerous books and a leading expert on Second Temple Judaism, and, I’m told, also a specialist on Paul—so perfectly suited to the question we need to explore today.

3:07
So, hello everyone. I am your Faber Lumière. Welcome to Al Lume della Ragione Show, the weekly appointment every Sunday at four o’clock, where we seek the truth starting from the evidence, to bring clarity to a sea of confusion.

3:28
Episode 247. As usual, if you find the video interesting, remember to leave a like, share it, let me know in the comments, or join us on the server linked in the description and via the icon at the top right: gruppovismo3.0.eu, the site where you can find all my content and that of the rest of the group.

3:45
I apologize for the long introduction. Professor, would you like to tell us a bit about yourself—who you are, what you do?

3:59
First of all, I greet everyone who is connected, and those who will connect in the future by watching this video. I thank you for the invitation and for the opportunity to talk a little about the status quaestionis, as we say in technical terms—that is, what scholars are discussing, including Nina Livesey, and what the issues are that are currently under scholarly debate.

4:33
I am essentially a specialist in Second Temple Judaism and in Christian origins, including Paul, because I approach him from the standpoint of ancient Jewish tradition.

4:45
For me, Christianity is one of the apocalyptic and messianic movements that arose within Second Temple Judaism. So I treat early Christianity in the same way that I treat the Dead Sea Scrolls, the works of Philo of Alexandria, or the works of Josephus—as one of the many manifestations of a Jewish world that was extremely diverse and very different from what we usually imagine.

5:12
That is because we know Judaism mainly through the rabbinic reform, which comes later. I study Christian origins from this perspective.

5:24
On this occasion, I was asked to clarify, at least a little, what the terms of the question are. I have also prepared a few small slides to give you an idea of how to situate this discussion within a debate that certainly did not begin today—a debate that has been going on for centuries.

5:52
So I prepared a few short slides. Before we move on to them, however, I must confess—very culpably—that I forgot to offer a greeting and acknowledgement to Dr. Cuscito, whom I must thank for putting us in contact and who also sends his greetings. I’ve also made videos with him; he is always a very important presence.

6:18
Okay. The second issue, before getting into the substance of the matter, is to clarify who “Lizzi” is. In these kinds of discussions, it is often difficult to keep track of the scholarly weight of the various positions.

6:46
There are people who arrive at a hypothesis such as “Paul never even existed” in a completely arbitrary way—by guessing blindly, in the depths of ignorance, so to speak.

7:05
As far as I know, this is not the case with Lizzi. Could you give your view on the level of scholarly credibility we are dealing with here?

7:29
It is a discussion of the Pauline letters, especially the Pauline corpus, and therefore also of the attribution of authorship.

7:51
These are issues that need to be situated within a broader scholarly discussion. And the point you raise is very important, because many times theses are advanced in a rather amateurish way.

8:11
Someone writes a text, and only later do we discover that they lack any academic background or scholarly credentials. That is not the case here.

8:25
We are dealing with serious problems, and therefore with a debate that exists within the academic world and must be understood in its seriousness.

9:06
That may be how things appear in the press, but it is not how scholarship actually works. There are questions, debates, and sustained investigations, and one must go back to the roots.

9:23
That is why I am happy to come here and explain how the work of Livesey came into being—it did not spring up like a mushroom out of nowhere. These issues have been under discussion for at least two centuries.

9:44
Each scholar adds a small new tile to the structure that makes up this long conversation, which continues within the scholarly community, welcoming different voices and contributions.

9:56
So we are not talking about a conspiracy theory; we are talking about a serious hypothesis that deserves discussion. Let us deal with serious matters and talk about how these problems arose.

10:15
As I said, if you show the first slide, we arrive at the historical-critical research you mentioned.

10:23
We must understand that historical research essentially emerged at the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century. We have to go back a bit and study, because it arose in a religious context and was therefore influenced by the religious paradigms of the time.

10:50
In the first slide, we see that two elements inherited from religious tradition had long been treated almost as dogmas—not in a religious sense, but in an interpretive one—and they became the starting point for scholarly reflection.

11:16
First: Paul’s letters form a corpus, that is, a coherent collection of works by a refined first-century theologian, the historical Paul, marking Christianity’s emancipation from Judaism.

11:42
The unifying feature of the corpus was its anti-Jewish element: Paul was understood as the theologian who separated Christianity from Judaism. This was taken for granted by everyone, Jewish and Christian alike.

11:57
The second point was that the letters of Paul formed a single unit: the thirteen letters attributed to Paul (originally fourteen, since Hebrews was included until the sixth century, before that attribution was abandoned).

12:20
These thirteen letters were all considered to be written by Paul himself, and that Paul was identified with the Paul described in the Acts of the Apostles.

12:34
These were the two “dogmas,” the two fixed points of early scholarship.

12:46
If you move to the second slide, you can see—and feel free to interrupt me with questions at any moment to keep the discussion lively.

13:00
I am not giving a full lecture; I am using just a few slides to establish some fixed points.

13:06
The second point is that in the nineteenth century historical research began to emancipate itself from religious tradition, gaining autonomy and no longer being strictly controlled by religious institutions or churches.

13:30
It began to question some certainties—not so much the theological homogeneity of the Pauline letters, but rather the question of authorship. Continue reading “Nina Livesey and the Authenticity of Paul’s Letters: A Critical Response”

2026-01-10

Making Sense of those Gospel-Josephus Similarities

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

jesus ben ananias meant over the fate of jerusalem jesus ben ananias by the romans giftedtwo representations of a plate at the top right numbered 497 2F28Y2E 550x1024 — Jesus ben Ananias (copyright-free version)

Josephus writes of a madman named Jesus son of Ananias who cries out a warning of doom to Jerusalem. He is brought before a Roman official but dismissed as having lost his wits.

Another Jesus figure in Josephus was a rebel and companion of seamen as well as land workers.

Josephus writes of prominent rebel leaders named Simon and John. Simon is even said to stage a kind of “resurrection” after the Roman conquest.

Josephus wrote of a slaughter of Galileans in the lake of Galilee that brings to mind the slaughter of men being compared to catching fish.

Josephus narrates encountering three crucified figures, one of whom he rescued from the cross. No doubt there are more that escape me at the moment.

What are we to make of these echoes of gospel accounts?

Some scholars have understandably attempted to find a “real Jesus” and his historical activity in them. Some have even attempted to find a Jesus who was of a similar kind to other false prophets and bandits Josephus writes about. Those efforts, to my mind, are overly speculative. I think there is a simpler explanation.

To appreciate that simpler explanation one must accept the likelihood that all of the gospels were written well after the time of Josephus. The advantage of a post Josephan date is that it has the support of independent evidence: the existence of the gospels is not testified until the second century.

That simpler explanation follows. The authors were searching for material from which to shape the person and narrative for gospel Jesus:

But long before Christian censors attempted to adapt the text of Josephus Flavius to their own purposes, early Christian writers, those who worked on the compilation of the books of the New Testament, tried to find in Josephus Flavius proofs of the real existence of Jesus Christ. Their insistence in this direction can be fully understood. For Josephus Flavius was for them one of the most important sources that could give an explanation of the events that took place in Palestine in the 1st century C.E. One need only look closely at the peculiar—by our standards extremely naïve, but at that time entirely usual and widely practiced in literary work—methods and techniques of searching employed by the evangelists, and it becomes clear how eagerly they seized upon the slightest hints in Josephus’ narrative that could serve them as support for depicting the life and activity of Jesus Christ.

Very characteristic are the various identifications that were made by the evangelists in connection with the name Jesus. At one time Jesus, son of Sapphias, appears as the leader of a detachment of rebels recruited from sailors and the poor (ναύται καὶ πένητες) (Vita Josephi, 12). At another time it is Jesus, son of Ananias, a half-mad peasant who appears in the streets and squares of Jerusalem several years before the uprising of 66, with a plaintive groan and cry foretelling the destruction of the sacred city and its great temple.

Both episodes were used by the evangelists. They “corrected” and idealized this image in their own way, while nevertheless preserving concrete details. Jesus remained at the head of the poor and of sailors, people engaged on the water and on boats; it was only necessary to turn sailors into fishermen–boatmen, from whom the first group of apostles is recruited, and to call the quiet Lake of Gennesaret a sea (θάλασσαν τῆς Γαλιλαίας) (Gospel of Mark, I, 15 ff.). Once adopted, the metaphor of “people engaged on the water” was then developed with the addition of new motifs: the calming of the night storm, walking on the water as on dry land, delivering a sermon from a boat, and so forth. The evangelist proceeds in the same way with Jesus, son of Ananias, the crazed commoner who came from the village. Prophetic words about the destruction of the great sanctuary are spoken by Jesus Christ, ascending a hill from which one could admire the view of Jerusalem and its temple.

In both cases, what belongs to the evangelist is only the artistic elaboration of the original motif borrowed from the account of Josephus Flavius.

However weak and primitive the scholarly and literary methods of the Christian writers may now seem to us, in one respect the historian of our own day must render them justice: they persistently sought in Josephus an answer to the question of who the predecessors of the Christians were.

. . . .

This narrative [Gamaliel’s reference to Theudas and Judas], of course, has no independent historical value, but it once again shows the extent to which Josephus Flavius was important for Christians as one of the sources for knowledge of the history of Judaism in the first century A.D., and then, in particular, reveals to which events in this history Christians paid primary attention, which figures, which directions of religious-political thought of that epoch attracted their sympathies. (Vipper, 76-77, 80 – translation)

Vipper, Robert Iu. Rim i rannee khristianstvo
(Рим и раннее христианство)
[Rome and Early Christianity]. Moscow: Izdatelʹstvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1954.

–o0o–

A few other posts on Josephus in the Gospels:

2026-01-08

Two Russian Texts on Christian Origins Translated into English

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

by Neil Godfrey

I am expecting this year to enter a master’s program researching the historical origins of our canonical Christian literature. The thesis I have discussed with a potential supervisor is the evidence for their composition as late as the mid to late second century. So it was with mixed feelings that I read Robert Vipper’s 1946 Russian study that in many ways coincided with the very thesis that I had been developing in recent years.

I was first very pleased with his explanation of his approach to historical sources. Yes, he applies the same methods that historians in non-biblical or non-theological studies take for granted. He sees right through the circularity of most biblical scholars taking the narratives of the gospels and epistles at face value (or at least that they are attempts, however mythologized, to rely on some historical core), without any independent controls to test their character as source material. That’s been a “hobby horse” of mine for some years now. I am in step with his method of testing and evaluating the sources. (I pull back a little, however, on his positivist view of historical analysis — that is, Marxist-Hegelian interpretation of “laws” of historical development. Though I was intrigued by his conclusion that Christianity as we would recognize it began more as a movement led by the reasonably well-to-do members of society. All of that is another discussion for another day.)

I said I had mixed feelings. One of them was feeling humbled in having to acknowledge that others (or at least Vipper) have long ago paved the main path I have been traveling on. But that is also reassuring. Vipper identifies the horrific calamities inflicted on the Judeans not only in the war of 66-70 but even moreso with the massacres under Trajan and Hadrian as being critical factors in the emergence of what we think of as conventional Christian literature. Where he has gone on well ahead of what I had been thinking, though, is that he finds as much explanatory power in the post-Hadrianic period: that is, the “enlightened” flavour of the times under Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius. He even points to Plutarch’s “parallel lives” (published much earlier) as having a significant influence on the gospels. That’s an idea I attempted to explore a long time ago and Vipper tempts me to revisit that possibility.

Other encouraging points in common:

The original view of a suffering and crucified messiah was not that it took place in heaven but that it was originally an abstract or mystical act beyond space and time. In the second century we see various efforts to transfer this idea into a real place and setting in history.
Justin Martyr (mid second century) does not know the canonical gospels
The Epistle of Barnabas is a “pre-gospel” text

Other hypotheses that surprised me:

The Shepherd of Hermas and The Didache are pre-Christian writings (or at best “proto-Christian”)
Jesus was a minor deity among Jewish associations prior to Christianity. Here Vipper points to some of the stronger arguments of W.B. Smith.

All of the above is found in

Vipper, Robert Iu. Vozniknovenie khristianskoi literatury
(Возникновение христианской литературы)
[The Emergence of Christian Literature]. Moscow: Nauka, 1946.

The other work I have translated

Vipper, Robert Iu. Rim i rannee khristianstvo
(Рим и раннее христианство)
[Rome and Early Christianity]. Moscow: Izdatelʹstvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1954.

Here Vipper explores in more detail the historical background from which Christianity emerged in the later second century. Given recent discussion here on the letter of Pliny the Younger to Trajan about Christians, some readers will find Vipper’s chapter on that letter of interest.

Both translations are accessible via a new page I have created. Robert VIPPER (Wipper) – Works Translated into English Check the right margin of this blog.

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Editor, An English Edition of Bruno Bauer’s 1843 Christianity Exposed
https://earlywritings.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=145080#p145080
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Jerusalem after 70 CE

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Translated transcript

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