That’s no more than an ad hominem argument which doesn’t address Holland’s argument on its merits. Mr. Carrier’s critique of Holland’s thesis is full of toxic invective and resentment. I don’t look to him for a fair or balanced view of Christianity.
Did you read the whole article? For me, Carrier’s books help put things in a historical and cultural context, which Holland is unfortunately not able to do. Instead, he tends to generalise and depend upon anecdotal evidence.
I read enough. Broadly speaking I agree with Holland’s thesis which I take to be a revalorization Christianity’s inversion of the values of classical antiquity in contradistinction of Nietzsche. Of course, that’s oversimplifying the matter greatly. My introduction to Carrier came when he savaged the work of Bart Ehrman, a scholar I respect. So that makes him on the wrong side times three if you include his opinion of Jesus Christ.
My initial reaction to Carrier’s mythicism was to agree with Goodacre, and my mind hasn’t changed to date.
I find it unbelievable that Christians from the earliest records be they proto-orthodox or gnostic all misunderstood Paul’s letters until Carrier and the mythicists came along.
I’m surprised that you are making this case, because reading his books, I don’t see that. What he is doing is showing that Christianity is not so unique in what it says, but not that everything is the same. He demonstrates that people thought differently during the early church era, providing multiple examples to illustrate this point.
The claim that people must have been witnesses to the bodily resurrection, for example, because they were not deluded, is countered by the fact that many sects and religions worshipped resurrected gods without making the historical claim.
He accepts that Christians may have celebrated the resurrection as a middle finger to the authorities that killed Jesus, because the spirit of what he taught went on, and they were convinced of the resurrection at the end of days. But today, the claim is materialist by nature, holding on to the physical, although it is impermanent.
In fairness, I haven’t read Carrier’s books because
- I found his initial proposition that Jesus was not an historical figure a phantasm who lived died and was resurrected death in the lower heavens not on earth implausible.
- Carrier’s scathing personal attacks on historians whose work I respect.
So, I haven’t followed his work further and this is the first time I have looked into it in years. You raise issues I find interesting and worthy of further invertigation.
I have come to the conclusion over time that Jesus preached as a prophet, like a prophet.
The legacy
The latter prophets of the Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and the twelve minor prophets) share several core themes. Most notably, they denounced social injustice and idolatry, called for fidelity to the covenant, and warned of divine judgment while also promising redemption and restoration.
Shared Features of the Prophets
All of the latter prophets passionately urge the people of Israel and Judah to repent of their social injustices, idolatry and insincere religious practices, emphasising that justice and true worship are inseparable. In so doing, they act as ‘covenant lawyers’, presenting God’s lawsuit against his people for breaking the covenant and warning of punishment if they fail to return to him.
They condemn the oppression of the poor and marginalised, highlighting God’s demand for ethical conduct, mercy and compassion. Their concept of God is no longer a local deity but they proclaim that God is sovereign not only over Israel, but over all nations, and that He intervenes in history according to justice. However, despite issuing harsh warnings, the prophets offer hope of redemption and a future restoration, which often includes messianic expectations and eschatological themes.
Literary and poetic traits punished
The latter prophets primarily wrote biblical poetry, using parallelism and figurative language to create dense, image-rich lines that often contrasted or mirrored ideas within short phrases. They introduced new vocabulary related to ‘the end of days’, thereby enhancing the eschatological dimension of Israel’s hopes and fears.
Because of this message, many Old Testament prophets faced persecution, rejection and physical suffering. They often encountered opposition from kings, priests and the people for denouncing injustice, idolatry and unfaithfulness to the covenant. They were often ridiculed, imprisoned and beaten. In some cases, such as Zechariah and possibly Isaiah, they were killed. Jeremiah was especially persecuted and imprisoned, and endured intense hostility.
Jesus as Prophet
If Jesus is regarded as a prophet rather than divine, he shares many similarities with the latter prophets of the Tanakh. Like them, he is seen as a divine messenger who calls people to repentance, emphasises covenant faithfulness, condemns injustice and hypocrisy, and proclaims God’s coming judgement and kingdom. He also suffered the fate of many in the prophetic tradition.
Shared characteristics with Old Testament prophets
Like the latter prophets, Jesus challenged social and religious hypocrisy, urging repentance, compassion for the marginalised and ethical living. So, Jesus claimed to fulfil, not abolish, the Law and the Prophets, embodying their teachings and promises (Matthew 5:17). Like the latter prophets, who employed rich poetic and symbolic imagery, Jesus taught extensively through parables and symbolic acts to convey spiritual truths and encourage repentance.
His prophetic role reflects the function of a covenant mediator seen in figures such as Moses in Deuteronomy 18:15-19, where Moses foretold that God would raise a prophet like himself from among the people. Just as the Old Testament prophets anticipated a promised deliverer and figure of restoration, Jesus identified John the Baptist as a prophet from among the people, and Jesus was seen as the “firstfruit” of those hopes.
However …
The restoration that Jesus proclaimed differed from the expectations of the scribes because the scribes and many Jews at the time anticipated a political and nationalistic Messiah who would liberate Israel from Roman rule and re-establish the Davidic kingdom through visible and forceful means. In contrast, Jesus taught a spiritual and inward restoration through the Kingdom of God. This was not about immediate political liberation, but about transforming hearts, spiritual renewal and calling people to repentance and ethical living under God’s reign.
Reasons for the difference:
The scribes and many Jews expected a Messiah who would visibly overthrow their oppressors and restore national sovereignty. Jesus emphasised a spiritual kingdom “not of this world”, accessible through faith and humility rather than political revolution. For Jesus, restoration involved renewing the covenant relationship with God through forgiveness, mercy and righteousness, rather than primarily national or territorial restoration. This rejected the scribes’ focus on legalistic adherence and external observance.
The general expectations, even today, do not expect the Messiah to suffer or die, but Jesus’s restoration involved suffering, sacrifice and offering salvation that went beyond political liberation. This is difficult for many to accept because Jesus redefined the role of the Messiah as one who serves and saves through self-giving love and divine authority. This contrasted with the scribes’ expectation of a conquering king and judge.
We also read of Jesus frequently criticising the scribes for their legalism and hypocrisy, and for missing the heart of God’s law. Essentially, Jesus deliberately challenged prevailing ideas by presenting a kingdom based on spiritual renewal and ethical transformation. This conflicted with the concrete political and national hopes of the scribes and many Jews. This difference largely explains the tension and misunderstanding surrounding his message of restoration.
Continuing the misunderstanding
Many modern evangelicals place great emphasis on messianic prophecies as precursors to the life and death of Jesus, thereby overlooking the immediate and broader social, political, and spiritual contexts of the prophets. The Zionist movement, particularly in its modern political form, shares certain tendencies with some evangelical interpretations in that it focuses on the physical restoration of Israel and its national sovereignty as the fulfilment of biblical prophecy.
However, the Old Testament prophets were primarily preachers who addressed their contemporaries with calls for justice, mercy and covenant faithfulness, rather than predicting distant future events. This practical and ethical message is often sidelined in favour of futuristic or exclusively Christ-centred interpretations.
For example, the idea that God is sovereign over all nations and intervenes in history according to justice, as proclaimed by the Old Testament prophets, does not imply that Israel should rule over other nations politically or dominantly. Instead, it emphasises God’s universal authority and ultimate control over world events and rulers, who are instruments of God’s will. This sovereignty includes the use of foreign nations, such as Babylon or Persia, to execute judgement and fulfil divine plans.
Regarding Israel’s role, the prophets depict Israel not as a political overlord, but as a “holy people” set apart to be a light and a witness to the nations, reflecting God’s justice and righteousness to the world (e.g. Isaiah 49:6). This role corresponds closely to Jesus’s message that Israel is “the light of the world” and “salt of the earth”, emphasising a mission of moral and spiritual influence rather than direct political domination.
The prophetic texts generally emphasise this “light to the nations” motif, balancing God’s sovereign governance of all peoples with Israel’s distinctive covenantal calling to exemplify God’s justice, holiness, and salvation in a world controlled by a sovereign God. The prophets envisage a future in which all nations acknowledge God’s rule and Israel plays a vital ambassadorial role in manifesting God’s kingdom.
This aligns well with Jesus’ message that the kingdom of God is a spiritual reign that extends through faithful witness rather than territorial conquest, and the prophetic vision and Jesus’ teaching on Israel’s light-bearing mission complement each other within the broader biblical theme of God’s universal sovereignty and redemptive plan. These are not contradictory or neglected ideas. Rather, the Old Testament prophets largely taught that God is sovereign over all nations and that Israel is called to be a holy example and a light to the world. Jesus echoed this message by emphasising spiritual transformation and witness rather than political dominance.
Rather than concentrating on the possible biography of Jesus, I have concentrated on the similarities of his teaching with the prophets. His biography is very speculative and possibly legendary, with a large part of his life missing.
According to the Bible, the prophets suffered hardships because their teachings were rejected. During the Babylonian exile, two major prophets are said to have lived and ministered: Ezekiel and Daniel. Jeremiah continued his ministry in Jerusalem and Judah during the exile until he was eventually taken to Egypt. Other prophets, such as Habakkuk and Zephaniah, also ministered around or shortly before the exile. The post-exilic period included prophets such as Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi, who addressed the restoration and rebuilding work following the return from Babylon.
With reference to a childhood exile to Egypt, archaeological evidence of Jewish communities in Egypt, particularly in places such as Elephantine and Alexandria, supports the idea that there were Jewish refugees and populations who could have been involved in such a migration. Historical records suggest that Egypt was a popular destination for Jews fleeing danger in Judea, which lends plausibility to the biblical narrative from a geopolitical perspective. According to various scholarly and traditional sources, the time that Jesus’ family spent in Egypt is typically described as relatively short, ranging from a few months to about three and a half years.
Historical evidence suggests that Buddhist teachings, and to a lesser extent Advaita Vedanta concepts, interacted with Mediterranean cultures during antiquity. For example, Emperor Ashoka’s Buddhist missions reportedly reached the Hellenistic world, including regions around Syria, Egypt and Greece. Centres such as Alexandria were crossroads for religious and philosophical exchange. These contacts may have indirectly influenced ideas circulating in the Mediterranean, including religious groups that predated or were contemporaneous with early Christianity.
While the historical evidence linking Jesus personally to Alexandrian thought is speculative, the influence of these interactions on the religious landscape of the Mediterranean world is undeniable. After all, Alexandria’s religious and intellectual syncretism fostered a unique environment where eastern philosophies and Jewish monotheism converged, making it a plausible cultural crossroads that influenced the religious landscape of the Mediterranean world. It is plausible that ideas circulating in regions near Egypt, where Jesus’ family had previously fled, exposed early Judaism (and possibly nascent Christian thought) to syncretic religious influences.
If Jesus was aware of Hosea 11:1, where God’s “son” refers metaphorically to Israel, it could have inspired him to explore the history and identity of his people deeply, seeing his life as a fulfilment of their collective story and covenant relationship with God. The prophetic theme of coming “out of Egypt” might suggest a spiritual and historical motivation for Jesus to seek inspiration by engaging with his people’s history and prophetic tradition, underscoring that his role was not only personal but communal and covenantal, embodying Israel’s hope and restoration.
Jesus’ teachings are often seen as precursors of core principles found in socialist policies, particularly in their emphasis on caring for the poor, promoting equality, and discouraging excessive wealth accumulation. He consistently taught generosity, compassion, and redistribution to support the poor and needy. Verses like “sell your possessions and give to the poor” (Matthew 19:21), “whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none” (Luke 3:11), and “give to everyone who begs from you” (Luke 6:30) express a principle that those with more should help those with less.
Jesus spoke critically about the dangers of wealth and greed (“You cannot serve God and money,” Matthew 6:24), aligning with socialist critiques of extreme accumulation and economic inequality. The parable of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25) emphasises that caring for the hungry, the sick, and the imprisoned is the measure of righteousness, not untouched prosperity or social status.
But the teaching of Jesus about care for the poor and justice can be seen as a continuation and fulfilment of the social justice themes strongly emphasised by the latter prophets of the Hebrew Bible. These prophets, including Amos, Isaiah, Micah, and Jeremiah, focused intensely on condemning social injustice, economic exploitation, corruption, and the oppression of the vulnerable. The latter prophets consistently denounced the wealthy and powerful for exploiting the poor. For example, Amos condemned bribery, cheating the poor, and the arrogance of the rich while performing empty religious rituals (Amos 5:24: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream”).
Isaiah presents God as denouncing leaders who hoard the spoil of the poor and calls for righteousness and justice among the community (Isaiah 3:14). Micah famously sums up the prophetic demand with “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8), which underscores moral and social responsibility toward equity and compassion.
These prophets saw social justice not only as ethical behaviour but as a divine imperative intertwined with true worship and covenant faithfulness. Jesus’ teachings on generosity, redistribution, care for the marginalised, and critique of wealth echo and deepen these prophetic calls to social justice.
1 Like
The context of my discussion is that the “prophets” were essentially dreamers or seers, who envisioned a better world in which there were no longer empires and despotic rulers that oppressed people but instead, God ruled in a realm of peace and prosperity for all.
Jesus followed in this tradition and made the point that to have that transpire, Israel must lead by example. They should be a light in the world and salt of the earth. He coupled the love of God with everything we have with the love of our neighbour.
Today, like in the past, Christians in empires think that they can use force to realise this dream. The tragic lesson of the cross is that power corrupts this dream, as power has always corrupted wisdom. Every good intention has been corrupted by power.
This has been perennial wisdom for millennia, but every generation thinks they are smarter. That is sin above everything else. We can only approach good intention with humility and compassion. Otherwise, it will be corrupted.
In the most ancient sense, prophets were not primarily predictors of the future. Rather, they were interpreters of the world, of symbols, seasons, dreams and the inner workings of the human spirit. They observed how life unfolded, how communities flourished and declined, and how nature cycled through death and renewal. Their ‘visions’ were not arbitrary, but interpretations of patterns that others overlooked.
A prophet dreams, but does not merely fantasise. Their dreams reveal truths drawn from their most profound encounters with reality. A prophet sees connections where others see scattered events, discerning continuity and meaning as it unfolds. A prophet critiques the present by comparing it to what could be. Their ‘better future’ does not come from nowhere, but grows from what is already latent in the world’s patterns, just not yet realised.
In many ancient cultures, this was understood quite literally: people would “listen” to the patterns in the stars, the winds, the crops and the faces of others. The prophet’s role was not to impose, but to align human life with the greater order. To the Tao, Logos, Ma’at or Divine Will, depending on the tradition.
Prophets are dreamers and seers, but they do not create anything new; they simply magnify what is already there. Their “better future” is not a fantasy of escape, but a call to become more in tune with the deeper patterns of existence revealed by nature in birth, decay, transformation and renewal.
A prophet sees what is already becoming and invites humanity to engage with it consciously. If we understand Jesus in this way, we can adopt his teachings to build on the wisdom that came before him and provide concrete ideas for a better world.
You have obviously studied the matter at length and given it a lot of thought. As Kierkegaard said “… in historical knowledge an approximation is the only certainty”. And as a rule, the further we look back in time the less certain the facts. Usually much more evidence of the ruling educated class than the ordinary working classes in which Jesus and his followers are said to be situated. The relationship between Jesus and the New Testament (NT) writers is a matter of academic historical speculation. We have previously noted the significance of the language, literacy and culture gap between Jesus and his followers as portrayed in the NT and writers of that compilation. Now if we take the mythicist position into consideration, we must add “if Jesus existed”. Richard Carrier doesn’t think so. From the interview I posted, it seems that Carrier thinks that Jesus originated from a vision of Paul. And the existence of an historical Paul has now come into question as it is postulated that he may have been an invention of the second century, his letters written by Marcion after the book of Acts.
We mustn’t assume that the New Testament emerged in isolation from the literary, philosophical, and religious currents of its time; however, this is not the case. The texts of the New Testament are deeply embedded in the wider Greco-Roman cultural and intellectual environment.
A clear example of this is Paul’s speech at the Areopagus in Athens (Acts 17:28), where he explicitly cites Greek poets, most notably Epimenides and Aratus, to articulate his theology of God’s immanence and humanity’s habitation of the divine. Similar gestures appear elsewhere in the Pauline corpus, such as in 1 Corinthians and Titus, where proverbial expressions, rhetorical forms, and moral exhortations derived from Greek philosophical and poetic traditions are adapted to support Christian teaching. These references indicate not merely incidental quotation, but a conscious process of appropriation and reinterpretation, situating Christian claims within a broader cultural conversation.
New Testament authors also adopt recognised Greco-Roman literary conventions to convey theological narratives in forms that would have been intelligible and compelling to their audiences. The Gospel of Mark, for instance, has often been noted to employ narrative features characteristic of classical tragic structure: an opening that establishes the protagonist’s identity and mission, a progressive intensification of conflict, a climactic moment of apparent defeat, and a concluding resolution that invites reflection upon the meaning of suffering and identity. Such narrative organisation is not accidental: it is a deliberate rhetorical strategy intended to present the story of Jesus in terms that resonated with familiar dramatic patterns while simultaneously transforming those patterns by reframing suffering as the locus of divine revelation rather than tragic inevitability.
This interplay of scriptural allusion, philosophical appropriation, and literary adaptation reflects the New Testament’s position at a cultural crossroads. It draws upon Jewish scriptural heritage while also engaging with the intellectual and aesthetic frameworks of the Greco-Roman world. In doing so, it communicates its message in forms recognisable to contemporary audiences while redefining the significance of those forms in light of its theological claims.
Within this wider context, exhortations in which Jesus assures his followers that, despite worldly tribulations, he has “overcome the world,” present Jesus not simply as a moral example or martyr but as the triumphant divine figure who imparts peace grounded in cosmic victory. Scholars have drawn attention to how the Gospel of John frequently portrays Jesus with characteristics reminiscent of Dionysus, the Greek god associated with wine, ecstasy, death, renewal, and divine ambivalence. The parallels include the production of wine at Cana, the emphasis on divine sonship, and narrative scenes such as the binding and arrest of Jesus, which evoke the binding of Dionysus in Euripides’ Bacchae. In that play, Dionysus demonstrates power through apparent passivity, revealing divine mastery in the very moment of seeming vulnerability—a motif also central to John’s portrayal of Jesus.
When interpreted in this light, the Gospel of John can be seen as presenting Jesus as a figure who fulfils and surpasses the Dionysian archetype. The Dionysiaca, with its extensive account of Dionysus’s divine lineage, suffering, death, rebirth, and cosmic influence, provides the fullest mythic template for the god’s identity. John’s Gospel does not merely echo these themes but reconfigures them: rather than a cycle of divine violence and ecstatic release, it presents a narrative of redemptive suffering, spiritual triumph, and the bestowal of lasting peace and eternal life. Jesus appears not as a divine figure who conquers by overwhelming force or intoxication, but as one who conquers the world through love, sacrifice, and union with the Father.
Thus, in this literary and theological framework, the declaration of Jesus in John 16:33 may be read as the pronouncement of a divine victor whose triumph does not replicate the mythic patterns of Dionysus but reinterprets them. The Gospel situates Jesus within a recognisable mythic mode while simultaneously transforming that mode to articulate a distinct vision of divine peace, salvation, and cosmic renewal.
The strength of this interpretation lies in its capacity to communicate immaterial values—truth, unity, beauty, and goodness—through narrative form, which remains one of the most effective means of expressing such realities apart from lived personal example. Stories do not merely describe these values; they enact them, allowing audiences to perceive how they take shape in concrete situations, relationships, and choices. Narrative, therefore, functions as a medium in which abstract ideals become embodied and imaginable, shaping moral imagination rather than simply informing intellectual understanding.
The tragedy of the human condition is that the very capacities which allow us to protect ourselves and those we love, by foresight, strength, and strategic thinking, are frequently turned toward pre-emptive aggression. Out of fear that others may harm us, we justify striking first, interpreting caution as hostility and potential threat as imminent danger. This dynamic erodes cooperation and mutual restraint, replacing trust with suspicion. In environments perceived as hostile, individuals and communities alike are inclined to respond in kind, escalating cycles of insecurity.
Such anxieties are often projected onto political and social leadership. When people feel threatened, they tend to demand leaders who will act decisively, even forcefully, to remove whatever or whoever is believed to be the source of their unease. In doing so, they may prefer strength without wisdom, action without reflection. The desire for safety can thus become a justification for oppressive or destructive policies, as the call for protection merges with the impulse to dominate.
Jesus’ teaching contradicted this tendency, encouraging us to use our equally inherent ability to forgive and cooperate, overcoming our anxiety with compassion and empathy, which is the practical implementation of the “foremost” law to love God with all we have and our neighbour as ourselves.
This human condition is not merely political but deeply personal. It reflects a recurring struggle between fear and trust, between the instinct to defend and the capacity to cooperate. Narrative interpretations that highlight peace, unity, and non-reactive strength challenge this pattern by presenting alternative models of power and forms of authority grounded not in force but in patience, integrity, and the confidence that truth does not require violence to prevail.
Jesus’ teachings contradict this reactive pattern. Alongside self-preservation, he calls upon us to employ another innate capacity: the capacity to forgive, to act cooperatively, and to respond to fear with compassion and empathy rather than aggression. These are not passive virtues; they require courage, self-awareness and the willingness to recognise our shared vulnerability. In this sense, compassion is not an alternative to strength, but a higher form of it, directing our energy towards restoration rather than retaliation.
This is the practical expression of the primacy of the law that Jesus identifies: to love God with all one’s heart, soul, mind and strength, and to love one’s neighbour as oneself. Such love is not sentimental affection, but rather a disciplined commitment to the well-being of others, acknowledging that their life and dignity are as real and valuable as one’s own. By prioritising this commandment above all others, Jesus redefines the moral life: security is not grounded in domination or deterrence, but in relationships characterised by understanding, mutual care and a shared commitment to peace.
Thus, the ethical challenge he presents is neither abstract nor unattainable. It is an invitation to allow compassion to guide our actions when fear might otherwise lead to aggression. In doing so, we can break the cycles of hostility that arise from insecurity.
Jesus was the greatest philosopher;scientist and psychologist the world has ever seen.All scientific disciplines can learn from him.
And yet to push back a bit, Carrier and McDonald are Christ Mythicists. When we go down the page you cited in Wikipedia we read : In modern scholarship, the Christ myth theory is considered a fringe theory and finds virtually no support from scholars, to the point of being addressed in footnotes or almost completely ignored due to the obvious weaknesses they espouse. Common criticisms against the Christ myth theory include: general lack of expertise or relationship to academic institutions and current scholarship; reliance on arguments from silence, lack of evidence, dismissal or distortion of what sources actually state, questionable methodologies, and outdated or superficial comparisons with mythologies.
If we dissolve the Jesus of history into a haze of comparative mythology, aren’t we gutting him of his existential core? The substance of Christ is rooted in spiritual reality. Reducing Jesus to a mere mythological figure feels like stripping away the core meaning and significance of his life and message. The comparative mythological approach may be used as a tool for understanding how religious ideas evolve and share common themes across cultures. It examines narrative patterns, such as the “dying and rising god” motif, the virgin birth, or the hero’s journey, which appear in various traditions. But in the hands of the mythicists it is used as a solvent to deny the historical substance of the man. How can we prevent mythological analysis from invalidating religious Christian existence as so many mythicists testify it has for them? How can the power and meaning of the stories, including their existential impact, be understood in historical/mythological contexts without undermining the essence of the Chritian expereince? How do we articulate universal mythological themes in such a way that they bring people into first hand experience of God realization that symbolic narratives address instead of destroying it?
Easy…..become a PLAYER rather than remaining an OBSERVER.You can’t influence the game if you remain in the stands.
And yet he wrote nothing. So we have nothing from him directly. That’s the problem we’re looking at here. Everything we know about him comes from other sources. The historicity of their accounts is uncertain.
1 Like
Are you serious….lol? How do you know that they are uncertain if you are still an OBSERVER?
+=- and -=+ is an observer philosophy and is a guess
+=+ and -=- is an observer philosophy and is a guess
+/-=+/- is player philosophy because it allows for all the above guesses and is a certainty.This is where the game is actually being played,in reality.
I think you are concentrating on aspects which I consider secondary, especially the status of Carrier and McDonald. The Wiki page also states, “Although the vast majority of New Testament scholars and historians of the ancient Near East agree that Jesus existed as a historical figure, most secular historians also agree that the gospels contain large quantities of ahistorical legendary details mixed in with historical information about Jesus’s life.”
This is because those writers of NT documents were trained to write by using the literary sources already available and their style. The point I was making was that the portrayal of Jesus was influenced by the mythologies and plays that belonged to basic literary education, not that Jesus was wholly mythical. However, I do believe that the miracles were often taken from these sources, and that the extraordinary claims lack the extraordinary evidence, although the authors would probably not have argued for the historicity of their portrayal.
For me, Jesus is, before anything else, a historical figure situated firmly within the prophetic tradition of the Hebrew scriptures. His teaching, symbolic actions, and self-understanding appear to align closely with the image of the “suffering servant” described in Isaiah and one who bears the burdens of the people and endures injustice without resorting to violence. There is good reason to think that Jesus consciously adopted this role, inviting those who followed him to do likewise, assuring them that if they embraced this path, they would witness even greater manifestations of God’s transformative work. His followers, in seeing the social, emotional, and spiritual effects of his teaching, came to believe that they were part of something genuinely prophetic and something capable of reshaping human relationships and, in time, the world.
Yet the magnitude of this vision inevitably provoked resistance. Prophets in Israel’s history were frequently met with suspicion or hostility, and Jesus would have been acutely aware of how such stories often ended. Nevertheless, he continued, acting with a resolve that suggests he believed the teaching itself was worth the risk. The conflict that ultimately unfolded involved not only religious authorities, Chief Priests, Scribes, and Pharisees, but also the political and military power of Rome. The Romans administered punishment in their own severe manner. The decision to crucify Jesus rather than stone him was not only an assertion of imperial authority but carried deep symbolic implications: to be “hung upon a tree” was understood in Jewish law as a sign of divine curse. Thus, his death did not merely silence him; it appeared to invalidate his claims.
The Gospel writers address this challenge by reinterpreting the meaning of his death in light of the resurrection experiences they describe. The post-resurrection dialogues present Jesus as revealing that his suffering, far from contradicting his mission, was integral to it. His death is portrayed as the necessary culmination of the servant’s path and an act that reveals God’s solidarity with the afflicted and unmasks the violence of the world. This idea was not native to traditional Jewish sacrificial theology, which focused on Temple rites rather than the redemptive power of a single person’s execution. Yet the early Christians seem to have found in the tragedy of Jesus’ death a deeper pattern: Israel’s suffering servant had finally appeared, but the nation had not recognised him.
It is here that figures like Paul become crucial. Paul, with his background in Pharisaic Judaism and his intense personal experience of the early Christian movement, appears to have provided a theological framework for making sense of what had happened. What initially looked like failure was recast as divine triumph. The apparent curse of the crucifixion became, in Paul’s interpretation, the very means through which God revealed the depth of divine love and the path toward reconciliation and renewal. It is not difficult to imagine that this re-reading and this sudden realisation that the crucifixion could be understood not as defeat but as fulfilment, was the catalyst that transformed Saul the persecutor into Paul the apostle.
In this view, the earliest Christian faith emerges not from a rejection of Judaism but from a profound and deeply painful attempt to understand how the tragic death of one believed to be God’s prophet could also be the moment in which divine purpose became most fully visible.
Once again, I concentrate on the first statement you make. We must differentiate between the historicity and the portrayal.
One way to prevent mythological analysis from undermining the existence of the Christian religion is to distinguish between explanation and meaning. While mythic interpretation can describe narrative patterns, symbols and shared cultural forms, it does not necessarily determine their significance for faith or practice. The core of Christian faith is not merely the story, but the response.
Christian existence is lived out in trust, moral transformation, and communal practice. Understanding literary parallels does not negate prayer, love of neighbour, or the shaping of a life according to Christ’s teaching. Faith is not invalidated by recognising the symbolic or narrative layer through which it is conveyed.
Recognising that form and truth are not the same thing enables us to understand the stories of Christianity in their historical and mythological settings without undermining their existential or spiritual power. While the narrative forms through which a faith is expressed can be shared across cultures, the meaning and lived reality of that faith can remain distinctive and compelling. Many cultures tell stories about suffering, transformation, death, and renewal. That Jesus’ story follows recognisable narrative patterns does not imply that it is fictional.
In religious studies, ‘myth’ refers to a story that conveys existential truths about being human, living in the world, facing suffering and death, and searching for meaning. When the Gospels use mythical language or imagery, they are doing what all profound traditions do: translating lived experience into a shared, memorable symbolic framework.
It requires presenting mythological themes not as explanations of God, but as pathways that point toward lived, experiential awareness. The aim is not to prove or defend the stories, but to use them as symbolic maps that guide a person toward what the stories are themselves attempting to disclose.
Mythic themes are descriptive, not reductive, and universal patterns (death and rebirth, descent and return, the healing hero, the reconciled self) are present because they speak to the structure of human experience. Saying that Christian stories share these forms should be framed as: “This story expresses the deepest pattern of our life,” rather than: “This story is only a version of a common pattern.”
A myth becomes hollow when treated as information. It becomes transformative when treated as a drama one enters. Christianity’s central claim is not “Jesus lived this story long ago,” but “This is the life we are living.” This is what is happening today and is the human condition.
The Gospels show that God is met in forgiveness rather than retaliation, in vulnerability rather than domination, and in compassion rather than fear. If we embrace this, then we follow Jesus.
“For me, Jesus is, before anything else, a historical figure situated firmly within the prophetic tradition of the Hebrew scriptures. His teaching, symbolic actions, and self-understanding appear to align closely with the image of the “suffering servant” described in Isaiah and one who bears the burdens of the people and endures injustice without resorting to violence.”
Okay, sure, but if one has already dismissed any supernatural or divine element to the dude’s nature, then what you write above is not enough to make this particular guy J significant in any unique way.
Everyone was a “suffering servant enduring the injustices, etc.” back then. That ‘prophecy’ wasn’t prophecy at all but just a common sense description of damn near everyone after taking a look around. Only the theme was centralized into this one dude, the archetype sufferer (in fact, he wouldn’t have suffered at all if he were divine… the crucifixion would be a charade) who stood for the vast majority of the lower peasant and laboring classes.
So the crux of the biscuit is here. In order for J to get any real attention, he would have to be supernatural or extraterrestrial. Otherwise, there is nothing at all unique about his life that warrants any attention.
“assuring them that if they embraced this path, they would witness even greater manifestations of God’s transformative work.”
Alright. Let’s do an alternative ending: in fact, there was no ‘father god’ that J spoke of, and the only thing ‘embracing J’s path’ did for any Roman was insure another generation of exploited lower class that would follow in their footsteps and show little resistance to bourgeois Roman rule.
What if, for some outlandish reason, I’m right, and it’s really that simple.
If one were to discover definitive proof - say a magical being popped into existence in front of everyone at the starbucks and said, “Jesus was wrong and there was nothing divine about him. Watch this… I’m gonna make that table levitate” - would one feel stupid and embarrassed for believing such nonsense for so long… or relieved and excited that at least something supernatural is going on because of dude just popping into existence and levitating tables?
btw did you guyz know that the reason why never again will there be a prophet type on earth is because of the literacy level of those who dominate and operate the world press prevents it? Yeah no kidding. See the monotheistic three only spread because the world wasn’t yet like a self correcting Wikipedia of intelligent contributors that fact check. All you had was a handful of semi-literate story tellers who’s ideas would be circulated throughout various regions by missionaries. The audience being even less literate then they. But when hundreds of years is given to the spread of religious ideas in relatively isolated areas they tend to stick and last a thousand years or more. One part because they are fully make-believe (which makes them unfalsifiable and theologians love that… they can’t lose) and one part because there were practical applications of the principles that promoted social solidarity among the lower exploited classes… that sense of community, need for forgiveness and charity because we are all suffering, etc. It was the perfect opiate designed to turn any revolutionary barracks into something resembling a senior citizen rest home.
Your propositions are unintelligible to me. Can you translate them into ordinary English so that I can understand what you’re saying about this topic?