part0009

I n this chapter we will examine references to Jesus in seven classical authors of the early Common Era. A rapidly growing scholarly literature treats many of these classical writers, especially Suetonius, Tacitus, and Pliny the Younger. Ronald Mellor has observed that scholarly writers on Tacitus now outstrip the ability of scholarly readers, so that one can read only a fraction of Tacitus scholarship. 38 Moreover, those passages that mention Christ and Christianity are typically some of the most fully examined sections of these writings. We could take many fascinating side trips into such closely related matters as the growth of the church, cultured opposition to Christianity, and the Roman persecution of Christians. However, we must keep our focus on what these passages say about Jesus.

The authors treated here are Thallos, Pliny the Younger, Suetonius, Tacitus, Mara bar Serapion, Lucian of Samosata, and Celsus. We will proceed in chronological order, although exact dating is often uncertain. For each author, we will briefly set the historical and literary context of his statement about Jesus, relate the statement itself in a fresh translation, deal with any text-critical issues, discuss the date, offer a treatment of its evidence for Jesus, examine the issue of sources, and briefly sum up the results.

The earliest possible reference to Jesus comes from the middle of the first century. Around 55 C.E., a historian named Thallos wrote in Greek a three-volume chronicle of the eastern Mediterranean area from the fall of Troy to about 50 C.E. Most of his book, like the vast majority of ancient literature, perished, but not before it was quoted by Sextus Julius Africanus (ca. 160-ca. 240), a Christian writer, in his History of the World (ca. 220). 39 This book likewise was lost, but one of its citations of Thallos was taken up by the Byzantine historian Georgius Syncellus in his Chronicle (ca. 800). According to Syncellus, when Julius Africanus writes about the darkness at the death of Jesus, he added,

This fragment of Thallos used by Julius Africanus comes in a section in which Julius deals with the portents during the crucifixion of Jesus. Julius argues that Thallos was “wrong” ᾀλoγώς) to argue that this was only a solar eclipse, because at full moon a solar eclipse is impossible, and the Passover always falls at full moon. Julius counters that the eclipse was miraculous, “a darkness induced by God.” Thallos could have mentioned the eclipse with no reference to Jesus. But it is more likely that Julius, who had access to the context of this quotation in Thallos and who (to judge from other fragments) was generally a careful user of his sources, was correct in reading it as a hostile reference to Jesus’ death. The context in Julius shows that he is refuting Thallos’ argument that the darkness is not religiously significant. Maurice Goguel remarks, “If Thallos had been writing simply as a chronographer who mentions an eclipse which occurred in the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius, Julius Africanus would not have said that he was mistaken, but he would have used his evidence to confirm the Christian tradition.” 40 As Suetonius’ Lives of the Caesars illustrates, the ancient Roman world was often fascinated by omens and portents near the death of notable people, thinking that they indicated a change of government. Thallos was probably arguing that this was no portent, but a natural event. Certainty cannot be established, but most of the evidence points to Thallos’s knowledge of the death of Jesus and the portent of darkness that Christians said accompanied it (cf. Matt. 27:45; Mark 15:33; Luke 23:44). 41

Who is this Thallos? Perhaps he is the Thallos to whom the Jewish historian Josephus refers, a Samaritan resident of Rome who made a large loan to Agrippa (Ant. 18.6.4 §167) and who may have been Augustus’s secretary. But this rests upon two successive conjectures, one textual and one historical. “Thallos” is a conjectural textual emendation adopted by all the recent editors of Josephus except Niese. All the manuscripts read αλλoς Σaμαρενς, “another Samaritan,” which is indeed puzzling because Josephus has not mentioned a Samaritan in the context. (However, it evidently did make enough sense to avoid emendation by scribes.) The proposed emendation adds a theta to αλλoς to make it “Thallos.” The second conjecture identifies this proposed Thallos in Josephus with the Thallos mentioned by Julius Africanus and Eusebius. Since this name is not common and since the first-century time is the same, this identification is at least possible. Unfortunately for this argument, we have no other record of this Thallos as a writer. If this identification is accurate, this witness to the death of Jesus would be placed in Rome in the middle of the first century. That this is a correct identification remains only a possibility; if it is incorrect, this Thallos remains an otherwise unknown author. The issue of the precise identity of the author has no strong bearing on the matter of the sources of Thallos’s information, because traditions about the death of Jesus may have reached a Roman just as likely as a Samaritan. Nor does it shed any clear light on the passage itself.

The dating of Thallos and his work are also somewhat uncertain. Eusebius’s Chronicle, which survives only in Armenian fragments, states that Thallos wrote about the period from the fall of Troy only to the 167th Olympiad (112-109 B.C.E.). However, other fragments of Thallos’s history preserved in several sources indicate that he wrote about events at least until the time of the death of Jesus. One possible solution is to argue that Thallos did indeed write until only 109 B.C.E., and Eusebius knows this first edition, but it was later extended by someone else in an edition that Julius Africanus used in 221 C.E. Another solution is to argue that the report we have in the Armenian fragments of Eusebius’ Chronicle is wrong. C. Müller, followed by R. Eisler, emends the likely reading of the lost Greek original from ρε

(167th Olympiad, 112-109 B.C.E.) to

(207th Olympiad, 49-52 C.E.). 42 This seems to be accepted by most scholars, but it is impossible to know whether this change occurred in the transmission of the Greek text, in its translation from Greek to Armenian, or in the transmission of the Armenian. Overall, the second solution is more likely, placing Thallos around the year 50.

Since Thallos seems to be refuting a Christian argument, he likely knew about this darkness at the death of Jesus from Christians, either directly or indirectly, not from an independent source. We cannot tell if Thallos gained his knowledge from oral or written accounts. 43 Written accounts of the passion may have been circulating at this time, but nothing in Thallos’s words leads us to conclude that he was reacting to a written Christian source. Darkness at the death of Jesus was just as likely an element of oral Christian proclamation. As Craig Evans remarks, this reference does not prove that there really was darkness—however it is to be explained—during the time of Jesus’ crucifixion. 44 Rather, it is evidence for the early tradition of darkness at Jesus’ death.

What can be gained from Thallos? Some fog of uncertainty still surrounds Thallos’s statement: its extreme brevity, its third-hand citation, and the identity and date of the author. While this fog prevents us from claiming certainty, a tradition about Jesus’ death is probably present. Like Christian tradition as found in the Synoptic Gospels, Thallos accepts a darkness at the death of Jesus. Against that tradition, he explains it as a natural eclipse of the sun. 45 We can conclude that this element of Christian tradition was known outside of Christian circles and that Thallos felt it necessary to refute it, thus giving it even wider exposure. Thallos may have been knowledgeable about other elements of the Christian tradition of Jesus’ death—it is unlikely that he knew only this small element of the story of Jesus’ death apart from any wider context—but his literary remains cannot yield any certainty on this. His argument makes him (if our dating is correct) the first ancient writer known to us to express literary opposition to Christianity. Moreover, Thallos is also the only non-Christian to write about a Jesus tradition before that tradition was written in the canonical Gospels.

Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus (ca. 61-ca. 113) was the nephew and adopted son of the writer Pliny the Elder. A senator and a prominent lawyer in Rome, he held a series of important administrative posts and became perhaps the most famous civilian administrator in imperial times. Pliny’s writings have secured his lasting fame. He published nine books of letters between 100 and 109; so successful were they in his time and in later literature that Pliny is credited with inventing the genre of the literary letter. His letters run from short personal notes to polished essays about a variety of topics. Pliny artfully balances words and clauses in sentences and paragraphs, and his vocabulary is rich and varied. He revised each letter and filled it out for publication. The last book of his letters (Book 10), published after his death and written in a simpler, more straightforward style than the prior books, preserves Pliny’s correspondence to Emperor Trajan from his post as governor of Pontus-Bithynia in Asia Minor (111-113). 46 His letters show him to be conscientious and humane. Some judge that Pliny is uncertain in action and too quick to write the emperor. 47 While true to some extent, history is the richer for it, because the letters of Book 10 provide the largest administrative correspondence to survive from Roman times.

Letter 96 of Book 10, the most discussed of all Pliny’s letters, deals with Christians and mentions Christ. Since the letters of this book seem to be chronologically ordered, Letter 96 may well come from 112 C.E. Pliny prefaces this letter with an appeal to the emperor’s forbearance: “My custom is to refer all matters about which I have doubts to you, my Lord, for no one is better able to resolve my hesitations or instruct my ignorance.” This fawning may be Pliny’s way of introducing difficult legal matters. Letters 30 and 56 of Book 10 also open with similar wording, and they too discuss difficult court cases. Another indication of a difficult topic is the length of Letter 96, which is second in length in Book 10 only to Letter 58. The body of Letter 96 begins by explaining Pliny’s doubts about trials of Christians. Because he has not been present at such trials before his appointment to Bithynia (to judge from what follows), Pliny has several questions: How should Christians be punished? What are the grounds for investigation, and how far should investigation be pressed? Are any distinctions to be made for age, or for renouncing Christianity? Are Christians to be punished just for being Christians, “for the mere name of Christian,” even though they may not be guilty of “crimes associated with the name”?

Pliny then gives Trajan a report of how he has been conducting trials. He asks the accused, three times if necessary and with warnings about punishment, if they are Christians. If they always answer affirmatively, “I order them to be taken away for execution; whatever they have admitted to, I am sure that their stubbornness and inflexible obstinacy ought to be punished.” 48 Roman citizens who cling to Christian profession Pliny sends to Rome for trial. But now Pliny has doubts about the whole matter. In this context he mentions Christ three times: 49

Since I have begun to deal with this problem, the charges have become more common and are increasing in variety, as often happens. An anonymous accusatory pamphlet has been circulated containing the names of many people. I decided to dismiss any who denied that they are or ever have been Christians when they repeated after me a formula invoking the gods and made offerings of wine and incense to your image, 50 which I had ordered to be brought with the images of the gods into court for this reason, and when they reviled Christ (Christo male dicere) . 51 I understand that no one who is really a Christian can be made to do these things.

Other people, whose names were given to me by an informer, first said that they were Christians and then denied it. They said that they had stopped being Christians two or more years ago, and some more than twenty. They all venerated your image and the images of the gods as the others did, and reviled Christ. They also maintained that the sum total of their guilt or error was no more than the following. They had met regularly before dawn on a determined day, and sung antiphonally a hymn to Christ as if to a god (carmenque Christo quasi deo dicere secum invicem). They also took an oath not for any crime, but to keep from theft, robbery and adultery, not to break any promise, and not to withhold a deposit when reclaimed.

Here the references to Christ end. Pliny relates that his enforcement of Trajan’s ban on societies (collegia, Letter 10.34) has had its intended effect of suppressing them to a significant extent. He had recently questioned under torture two women deacons who were slaves and “found nothing but a depraved and unrestrained superstition.” As A. N. Sherwin-White remarks, Pliny concluded at this point that Christians were foolish zealots whose way of life was morally blameless. 52 This conclusion gave Pliny pause, and he informs Trajan that he has postponed all trials of Christians to consult him for his advice. Pliny justifies his referral of this problem by saying that many people of all classes, ages, and regions of his province “are infected by this contagious superstition.” Yet “it is still possible to check and cure” this new superstition, “if only people were given an opportunity to repent” of Christianity. 53

Trajan answers, as he often does in his correspondence with his governor, by briefly affirming Pliny’s course of action (Letter 97). He concedes that he can give Pliny no definitive guideline to follow, which may help to account for why he does not address all of Pliny’s questions. Pliny must not actively seek out Christians. However, if they are brought to him as individuals and charged at a trial with being Christians, they must be punished if they will not recant by “offering prayers to our gods.” If they do recant they are to be let off “however suspect their prior behavior has been.” This indicates that Trajan approves of persecution “for the name alone.” 54 Trajan’s rescript says nothing about Christ, only Christians. 55

The text of these two letters is well-attested and stable, and their authenticity is not seriously disputed. Their style matches that of the other letters of Book 10, and they were known already by the time of Tertullian (fl. 196-212). Sherwin-White disposes of the few suggestions, none of which have gained credence, that the letters are whole-cloth forgeries or have key parts interpolated. 56 Murray J. Harris has adduced good reasons to conclude that Letter 96 has not been interpolated by a Christian scribe. Christian interpolators would not testify to Christian apostasy or predict that most Christians would return to Greco-Roman gods if given the chance. Neither would they speak so disparagingly of Christianity, calling it amentia (“madness”), superstitio prava (“depraved superstition”), or contagio (“contagion”). 57 Moreover, a predominantly negative tone toward Christianity is spread throughout Letters 96 and 97, one that no Christian would convey.

This fascinating letter and Trajan’s response raise a host of historical issues, which an abundant scholarship addresses. 58 Apart from the main issue of persecution, especially its legal basis in Roman law and its history, Letter 96 contains the first non-Christian description of early Christian worship. 59 We cannot treat these issues in themselves, but will touch on them as we keep our focus on Pliny’s statements about Christ.

What exactly does Pliny say about Christ? He mentions this name three times in Letter 96, twice when he talks about suspected Christians “reviling Christ” as a part of their recantation and exoneration (96.5, 6), and once when he relates to Trajan that Christians customarily “sing a hymn to Christ as if to a god” (96.7). Christ here is the divine leader of this religion, worshiped by Christians, so that cursing him is tantamount to rejecting Christianity. Pliny does not deal explicitly with the “historical Jesus.” If he has learned anything in his investigations and interrogations about Jesus, he does not relate it to the emperor. That Pliny calls Christianity a superstitio might militate against any close look at its origin—the origins of a superstition did not matter!

The only statement Pliny could be implicitly making about the historical Jesus is found in the words carmenque Christo quasi deo dicere secum invicem, “and sung antiphonally a hymn to Christ as if to a god.” 60 Harris, following Goguel, argues that by using quasi Pliny means to say that the divine Christ whom Christians worship was once a human being. 61 Sherwin-White points out that in Pliny “quasi is used commonly without the idea of supposal,” to mean simply “as.” 62 However, Pliny can also use quasi in its typically hypothetical meaning (“as if, as though”). 63 So while “as if” may imply here that the Christ Christians worship was once a man, we should not place too much weight on this. If Goguel and Harris are correct, Pliny furnishes only the barest witness to the historical Jesus, but this was not at all his aim.

This leads us finally to the issue of Pliny’s sources. Background knowledge of Christianity and Christ may have come from Tacitus, Pliny’s friend. (Letter 1.7, addressed to Tacitus, talks of their long friendship; they often exchanged their writings for comment.) The opening of Letter 96 states that Pliny has not been present at (other) trials of Christians, which implies that he knows Christians have been prosecuted. Perhaps Pliny knew about Christianity from the widespread rumors and reports circulating in his time. However, he does not relate what these rumored flagitia are, or relate them to Christ. All the specific information about Christianity and the little about Christ related in Letter 96 evidently come from Pliny’s own experience in Bithynia. He has obtained this information from former Christians, and corroborated it with information obtained under torture from two women deacons. As such, it is not a witness to Jesus independent of Christianity. 64 What is related about Christ confirms two points made in the New Testament: first, Christians worship Christ in their songs (Phil. 2:5-11; Col. 1:15-20; Rev. 5:11, 13), and second, no Christian reviles or curses Christ (1 Cor. 12:3). Pliny, however, shows no knowledge of Christian writings in this letter.

The Roman writer Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus (ca. 70-ca. 140) practiced law in Rome and was a friend of Pliny the Younger (Pliny, Letters 1.18). He served for a short time around 120 as secretary to Emperor Hadrian until he was dismissed, perhaps over allegations of incivility towards Hadrian’s wife (Spartianus, Life of Hadrian 11.3). Other than this, we know little for certain about the main events of his life. Suetonius was a prolific writer of several different types of literature, but only his Lives of the Caesars (De vita Caesarum) has survived basi-cally intact. Published around 120, this book covers the lives and careers of the first twelve emperors, from Julius Caesar to Domitian. Lives treats history in a biographical format, as its title implies. The first part of each chapter, on the emperor’s family background and early life, and the last part, on his physical appearance and private life, are in chronological order. However, when Suetonius treats the public careers of the emperors his order is mainly topical.

In such a topical section of The Deified Claudius , the fifth book of Lives, Suetonius summarily lists what actions Claudius (emperor 41-54 C.E.) took toward various subject peoples during his reign. Virtually each sentence in Claudius 25.3-5 states a different action of Claudius without elaboration, explanation, or illuminating context. 65 After reporting how Claudius dealt with Greece and Macedonia, and with the Lycians, Rhodians, and Trojans, Suetonius writes tersely in 25.4,

Even considering one textual variant that reads “Christ,” the Latin text is sound. 66 A Christian interpolator would more likely (though not certainly, as we will see below) have spelled this name correctly. Also, he would not have placed Christ in Rome in 49 C.E. or called him a troublemaker. (Of course, these arguments rest on an identification of “Chrestus” with Christ.) We conclude with the overwhelming majority of modern scholarship that this sentence is genuine.

This sentence is most often translated in a way similar to the influential Loeb edition, “Since the Jews constantly made disturbances at the instigation of Chrestus, he expelled them from Rome.” 67 Yet impulsor does not mean “instigation,” but rather “instigator.” The immediately joined impulsore and Chresto agree with each other in gender, number and case, making Chresto an appositive, and so they are better rendered “the instigator Chrestus.” To translate them as “at the instigation of Chrestus” conveys the basic meaning, but it mutes the judgment that Suetonius is making: Chrestus not only led an agitation, but was himself an agitator. The translation we have given, “because of the instigator Chrestus,” preserves this point. It also puts more emphasis on Chrestus than the typical translation.

This elusive sentence has elicited a small library of literature. 68 It fairly bristles with interrelated problems: whether Claudius’ action was a complete expulsion, a partial expulsion, or a repression; 69 the date of his action; 70 and its relation to Acts 18:2. We will touch upon these issues as they come into view as we focus on the crux: Who is “Chrestus”? The near-unanimous identification of him with Christ has made the answer to this question possibly too settled. For example, A. N. Wilson has recently written, “Only the most perverse scholars have doubted that ‘Chrestus’ is Christ.” 71 Yet nothing in this sentence or its context explicitly indicates that Suetonius is writing about Christ or Christianity. Also, none of the copyists of the surviving manuscripts of Lives, which date from the ninth to the fifteenth centuries, ventured to change Chresto to Christo. This indicates that Chresto made some sense as it stands. 72 The simplest understanding of this sentence is that Chrestus is an otherwise unknown agitator present in Rome. So the debate about Chrestus is a good-faith disagreement, and scholarly perversity has little to do with it.

Some historians have recently argued that Chrestus is indeed an otherwise unknown agitator in Rome, and not to be identified with Christ. 73 Although the fullest and most recent case for this position has been made by H. Dixon Slingerland, the most persuasive case for this position is presented by the noted classicist Stephen Benko. 74 He argues that Suetonius would not misconstrue “Christus” as “Chrestus” because Chrestus was a common name in Rome. Moreover, in Nero 16.2 Suetonius spells the closely related word Christiani correctly, and so he must have known that its founder was Chri stus, not Chrestus. Benko concludes that this Chrestus was a Jewish radical, a member of a Zealot-like group that wanted to induce the coming of God’s kingdom by violence. When Chrestus incited Roman Jews to riot over the abolition of the Jewish client kingdom of the Herodians by Claudius in 44, Claudius acted to preserve order in his capital by expelling the Jews in 49, the event which Suetonius records. 75

A close examination of Benko’s arguments shows that they are un-sustainable. First, “Chrestus,” with its Greek equivalent name Xρη

τoς (Chrēstos ) on which it was based, was indeed a common name among Greco-Roman peoples. Xρη

τoς, “good, excellent, kind, useful,” was an adjective applied to high-born and ordinary citizens, 76 but as a name was especially common among slaves and freedmen. 77 Among Jews, however, which all interpreters including Benko hold to be Suetonius’s focus here, this name is not attested at all. Significantly, “Chrestus” does not appear among the hundreds of names of Jews known to us from Roman catacomb inscriptions and other sources. 78 This is admittedly an argument from silence, but here the silent stones of the dead speak clearly. Because “Chrestus” was not a common Jewish name but was a familiar Gentile name, the door opens more widely to the possibility that Suetonius (and/ or his source) may indeed have confused Christus for Chrestus.

Benko asserts that Suetonius’s statement about Christians in Nero 16.2 shows that he would have known the correct spelling of “Christus,” and thus would have written “Christus” if he had meant it. Suetonius writes there in a list of Nero’s actions, “Punishment was inflicted on the Christiani, a class of people of a new and evil-doing superstition.” This makes no reference to the founder of the Christians’ movement, nor does it mention Judaism. Claudius 25.4, on the other hand, does not refer to Christians, but Jews. Suetonius’s statements indicate that he may not have associated Judaism with Christianity, much less have known that they were closely connected religious movements in the year 49. He says that Christians hold to a “new” superstition, and implies that they are a distinct “class” (genus ), while he knows that Jews practice an ancient religion. His statements also indicate that he did not associate the Jewish “Chrestus” with “Christians.” Corroboration of this widespread Roman misunderstanding is provided by Tacitus (Annals 15.22), who must explain to his readers that “Christians” comes from “Christ.” Therefore, because Suetonius can spell “Christians” correctly in Nero does not necessarily mean that he would know that “Chrestus” is a mistake in Claudius.

Because this issue of spelling will also arise in the section on Tacitus below, we should give it some extended treatment here. “Christus” was often confused with “Chrestus” by non-Christians, and sometimes even by Christians. This confusion arose from two sources, of meaning and sound. The Greek “Christos” and its Latin equivalent “Christus” would have suggested a strange meaning to most ancients, especially those unfamiliar with its Jewish background. Its primary Greek meaning in everyday life suggests the medical term “anointer” or the construction term “plasterer.” These meanings would not have the religious content that “Christ” would have to someone on the inside of Christianity. 79 These unusual meanings could have prompted this shift to a more recognizable, meaningful name.

Due to a widespread phonetic feature of Greek, “Christus” and “Chrestus” were even closer in pronunciation than they appear to be today. Hellenistic Greek featured an almost complete overlapping of the sounds of iota (

), eta (η) and epsilon-iota (the diphthong ε

). They were pronounced so similarly that they were often confused by the uneducated and educated alike, in speech and in writing. Francis T. Gignac has fully documented this phenomenon and concluded, “This interchange of η with

and ε

reflects the phonological development of the Greek Koine, in which the sound originally represented by gener-ally η merged with /i/ by the second century A.D.” 80 This merging of sounds, at least with the name of Christ, affected the Latin language as well, as witnessed by Latin church writers near this time (below). When this similarity of sound is coupled with a move to a more meaningful term, it is entirely reasonable to conclude that behind Suetonius’s “Chrestus” may be “Christus.”

Here an objection could be posed that a Christian source (if this name came to Suetonius by way of a Christian source), or a careful Roman historian who knew about Christianity, would not have made a mistake about such an important name. This seems to be a part of Benko’s argument. Friedrich Blass argued more than a century ago that the forms Xρ

τoς and Xρ

ανoς were greatly preferred by Christian writers from the New Testament on, while non-Christians typically used Xρη

τoς and Xρη

ανoς. 81 However, this phonological confusion between iota and eta was, to judge from the surviving manuscript and inscriptional evidence, present to a significant degree among Christians as well. The original hand of the important Codex Sinaiticus (fourth century) spells “Christian” with an eta in all three New Testament occurrences of this word (Acts 11:26, 26:8; 1 Pet 4:16). Manuscript p72 (third-fourth century) has Xρ

τoς for χρη

τoς in 1 Pet 2:3. In Phrygia, where a number of funerary inscriptions from the period 240-310 bearing the word “Christians” survive, “Christians” is most often spelled Xρη

ανoς. 82 This misunderstanding is best shown on one gravestone that has it both ways: “Christians for Chrestians”! 83

This Greek and Latin confusion of sounds in the name of the faith was associated with the assumption that its founder was named Xρηστoς. Already in about 150 Justin Martyr, who wrote in Greek, could keep up a running pun on the similarity of these words: “Insofar as one may judge from the name we are accused of [ Christianoi], we are most excellent people [chrestianoi].... We are accused of being Christians, and to hate what is excellent is wrong” (1 Apology 4.1). 84 In 197 Tertullian addressed non-Christians in defending Christians from persecution, “‘Christian’ ... is derived from ‘anointing.’ Even when you wrongly pronounce it ‘Christian,’ it comes from ‘sweetness and goodness. ’ You do not even know the name you hate!” (1 Apology 3.5). In 309 Lactantius similarly complained about “the error of ignorant people, who by the change of one letter customarily call him ‘Chrestus’” (Divine Institutes 4.7.5; who exactly are “ignorant” is not specified). While most early Christian writers knew the difference between these two words, using them carefully and even cleverly, many ordinary Christians shared the misconception of non-Christians. (Indeed, the corrections these three writers offer may also be directed at the mostly Christian readers of their works.) What Elsa Gibson concludes about the usage in the Phrygian inscriptions is true in general: “Occurrences of the form with eta seem to be deliberate; the word ‘Christian’ was mistakenly thought to be derived from Xρηστoς.” 85 So by the slightest of changes, aided by converging vowel sounds, some Christians and many pagans changed the strange name “Christos/Christus” into a name more familiar and intelligible, “Chrestos/Chrestus.” Therefore, Suetonius, who was not careful to begin with, could easily make a mistake about this name, or use a mistaken name from his source, without realizing it.

We now come to the second of Benko’s points, that Chrestus may have been a Jewish radical attempting to force the advent of the kingdom of God by violence, and whose activities led to rioting among Jews in Rome. True, Benko only suggests it as a possible Sitz im Leben after his main arguments are done. Erich Koestermann also holds that chrestianoi belonged to a Jewish revolutionary movement led by a Chrestus. 86 However, no other evidence corroborates this supposed Jewish political rebellion in Rome to which Benko and Koestermann relate Chrestus. A more likely explanation of this trouble leading to expulsion, one based on a pattern in the history of Roman Judaism, relates to Jewish missionary activity. As Louis Feldman has argued, the most likely explanation of all three expulsions of the Jews from the city of Rome is trouble over Jewish missionary activity among non-Jewish Romans. 87 In 139 B.C.E., the Jews were accused of aggressive missionary tactics, and temporarily expelled from the city. In 19 C.E., the emperor Tiberius expelled them from Rome, also because, as Dio Cassius remarks, “they were converting many of the natives to their ways.” 88 Then, in the middle of that same century, trouble over the missionary preaching of Jesus as the Christ led to expulsion of Jews. Thus it is clear that Roman authorities typically saw the spread of Judaism among the native populace as an offense that merited expulsion. Suetonius may well be commenting about a civil unrest caused between Roman Gentiles and Roman Jews by proclaiming Jesus as the Christ. Many interpreters of this passage assume that the civil disturbances were only among Jews, but Suetonius does not say this, and Feldman’s interpretation of the cause of this unrest is the most likely. We need not posit a religio-political revolt quite the opposite of missionary activity. In conclusion, Benko’s arguments, while interesting and serious, are not persuasive. In this passage, “Chrestus” is most likely a mistake for “Christus.”

The source of Suetonius’s information is, as usual, not named. A Christian source, whether written or oral, would have gotten the information about Christ more right than wrong. It probably would have spelled Christ correctly, and certainly would not have described him as living and agitating in Rome in 49. So it is unlikely that Suetonius got this information from a Christian source. Neither did this information originate from Jews, since its mention of their expulsion is uncomplimentary to them. More likely is the supposition that Suetonius is using a Roman source, perhaps from the imperial archives. As the emperor’s secretary, he may have had access to these archives. But he makes no quotation of the imperial correspondence after his chapter on Augustus, so perhaps he was dismissed from the emperor’s service at that point in his research and writing. P. Moreau and F. F. Bruce suggest a police report as Suetonius’s source. 89 Such a report would not be careful about the name of an agitator or note the issue under agitation; the emperor and his action would have been deemed more important. Suetonius may have copied a mistake from his source, and the source may have been written near to the event when the name “Christ” was not widely known in Rome. Repeating a mistake in his sources is characteristic of Suetonius, who often treats them uncritically and uses them carelessly. 90

The positive results for our study of Claudius are meager, especially in view of the difficulty this celebrated sentence presents. The thrust of the sentence is clear: that Claudius took measures against at least some Jews in Rome after continual disturbances. The center of difficulty is the identity of Chrestus. We have seen, first, that the better explanation of this difficulty is that Chrestus is a mistake for Christus. We have shown that this is probable, but to claim certainty is to go beyond the spare and somewhat equivocal evidence. Second, Suetonius’s statement indicates how vague and incorrect knowledge of the origins of Christianity could be, both in the first and early second century. 91 Similar sounds and spelling led him, like others, to misread Christus as Chrestus. Continued public unrest over this Christ led Claudius to take the same action that other Roman officials had taken in this sort of situation: send the troublemakers packing. From this initial misunderstanding came the idea that this Chrestus was actually present in Rome as an instigator in the 40s. Although Suetonius did view Christ as an historical person capable of fomenting unrest, 92 his glaring mistakes should caution us against placing too much weight on his evidence for Jesus or his significance for early Christianity.

Cornelius Tacitus is generally considered the greatest Roman historian, yet we do not know his parentage, the city or year of his birth and death (perhaps ca. 56 and 120), or even his praenomen (perhaps Publius or Gaius). We do know that he held a series of important administrative posts, including proconsul of Asia in 112-113, where he was the neighboring adminstrator to his friend Pliny the Younger. Tacitus’s Histories treats 69-96 C.E., the reigns of emperors Galba, Otho, Vitellius, Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian. It likely had twelve books, of which only Books 1-4 and a part of 5 have survived. The Annals is Tacitus’s last (and unfinished) work. Dating from around 116, it treats events during the years 14-68 C.E. (from the death of Augustus through Nero) in either sixteen or eighteen books. The Annals also survives only in parts, with only Books 1-4 and 12-15 intact.

The Annals, the actual name of which is Ab excessu divi Augusti (“From the death of the divine Augustus”), is Tacitus’s finest work and generally acknowledged by modern historians as our best source of information about this period. 93 Tacitus writes tersely and powerfully. He seems to use his sources carefully, and he writes an account whose basic accuracy has never been seriously impeached. Unlike Suetonius, he never stoops to mere scandal- and rumor-mongering to make his point about the emperors. His overall tone and task are pessimistic, to record the ordeal of the Roman people and state under a dynastic system which had produced a sad parade of mostly incompetent and often immoral emperors, from Tiberius to Nero. Tacitus knew that the early empire would be seen as a bad period, so his analyses “have their uses, but they offer little pleasure” (Annals 4.33). The abuses of the imperial system had contributed to the political, moral, and religious corruption of the Roman people. This corruption entailed the inability of the patrician class to challenge the wanton acts of the emperors and the adoption in Rome itself of foreign ways, including foreign religions like Christianity. Rome had indeed declined, but Tacitus did not believe that its fall was inevitable. He writes with a belief in the dignity and positive moral effect of good historical writing, especially on individuals, whom he, like most Romans, believed shaped the course of history. This positive effect comes about by praising virtuous deeds for posterity and denouncing evil ones in the expectation that this will influence rulers for good (3.65) and the reader will learn to distinguish right from wrong (4.33). Tacitus’s works were widely read in his own lifetime, and perhaps it may not be too much to claim that the improved state of Roman government in much of the second century was due in part to his influence.

Chapters 38 through 45 of Annals 15 describe the great fire in Rome and its aftermath in the year 64, an issue that entails introducing Christians and Christ to his readers. 94 Tacitus begins his lengthy treatment of the fire with the question of who was responsible for it. 95 “Following this came a disaster graver and more terrible than all other fires which have occurred in the city. Whether due to chance or to the malice of the emperor is uncertain, as each version has its own authorities” (Annals 15.38.1). Tacitus describes the fire in a vivid narration to which no summary can do justice. Suffice it to say here that in the early morning of July 19, 64 C.E., a fire broke out in the Circus Maximus area, and for six days spread especially through the residential districts of the city despite all efforts to arrest it. The authorities finally starved it by destroying parts of the city that lay in its path. But then it broke out again and spread over three more days to other areas of Rome. In all, three of the fourteen districts of Rome were totally destroyed, seven were mostly destroyed, and only four were untouched. Aside from the physical damage and loss of life, many ancient cultural treasures were lost. Nero was helpful at first in aiding the distressed and homeless population, and then in directing reconstruction that led to a city both fire-resistant and more beautiful. But it soon became apparent that he wanted to use private land to build a large palace for himself, the Domus Aurea, in the center of Rome. This and other suspicious events in the course and aftermath of the fire led to the rumor that Nero himself had ordered it.

Tacitus begins Chapter 44 with purposeful ambiguity. He first lists the official acts to cope with the aftermath of the fire, presumably carried out under Nero’s direction. The Roman gods were appeased by special ceremonies. The Sibylline books of prophecy were consulted, resulting in further prayers to Vulcan, Ceres, Proserpine, and Juno. Ritual dinners and all-night vigils were held by married women. Then Tacitus reveals the reason for these measures:

[2] But neither human effort nor the emperor’s generosity nor the placating of the gods ended the scandalous belief that the fire had been ordered. Therefore, to put down the rumor, Nero substituted as culprits and punished in the most unusual ways those hated for their shameful acts [flagitia ], whom the crowd called “Chrestians.” [3] The founder of this name, Christ, had been executed in the reign of Tiberius by the procurator Pontius Pilate [Auctor nominis eius Christus Tiberio imperitante per procuratorem Pontium Pilatum supplicio adfectus erat]. Suppressed for a time, the deadly superstition erupted again not only in Judea, the origin of this evil, but also in the city [Rome], where all things horrible and shameful from everywhere come together and become popular. [4] Therefore, first those who admitted to it were arrested, then on their information a very large multitude was convicted, not so much for the crime of arson as for hatred of the human race [odium humani generis ]. Derision was added to their end: they were covered with the skins of wild animals and torn to death by dogs; or they were crucified and when the day ended they were burned as torches. [5] Nero provided his gardens for the spectacle and gave a show in his circus, mixing with the people in charioteer’s clothing, or standing on his racing chariot. Therefore a feeling of pity arose despite a guilt which deserved the most exemplary punishment, because it was felt that they were being destroyed not for the public good but for the ferocity of one man.

The textual integrity of this section has on occasion been doubted. The text has some significant problems, as attested by the standard critical editions. 96 These and other difficulties in interpreting the text have also led to a few claims that all of it, or key portions of it, has been interpolated by later hands. 97 But there are good reasons for concluding with the vast majority of scholars that this passage is fundamentally sound, despite difficulties which result in no small measure from Tacitus’s own compressed style. The overall style and content of this chapter are typically Tacitean. The passage fits well in its context and is the necessary conclusion to the entire discussion of the burning of Rome. Sulpicius Severus’s Chronicle 2.29 attests to much of it in the early fifth century, so most suggested interpolations would have to have come in the second through fourth centuries. As Norma Miller delightfully remarks, “The well-intentioned pagan glossers of ancient texts do not normally express themselves in Tacitean Latin,” 98 and the same could be said of Christian interpolators. Finally, no Christian forgers would have made such disparaging remarks about Christianity as we have in Annals 15.44, and they probably would not have been so merely descriptive in adding the material about Christ in 15.44.3.

The only textual difficulty of particular importance for our study comes at the first and only use of “Christians” in Chapter 44. Most older critical editions read Christianoi, “Christians.” 99 However, the original hand of the oldest surviving manuscript, the Second Medicean (eleventh century), which is almost certainly the source of all other surviving manuscripts, reads Chrestianoi, “Chrestians.” A marginal gloss “corrects” it to Christianoi. Chrestianoi is to be preferred as the earliest and most difficult reading, and is adopted by the three current critical editions and the recent scholarship utilizing them. 100 It also makes better sense in its context. Tacitus is correcting, in a way typical of his style of economy, 101 the misunderstanding of the “crowd” (vulgus ) by stating that the “founder of this name” (auctor nominis eius) is Christus, not the common name implicitly given by the crowd, Chrestus. 102 Tacitus could have written auctor superstitionis, “the founder of this superstition,” or something similar, but he calls attention by his somewhat unusual phrase to the nomen of the movement in order to link it directly—and correctly—to the name of Christ. Due to the paucity of manuscripts, we cannot be sure about the reading Chrestianoi; but on the whole, it is much more likely than Christianoi.

The secondary literature discussing Tacitus is extensive. 103 The largest problem in scholarship on Chapter 44 is the connection between the fire and Neronian persecution of Christians. Is Tacitus correct in strongly linking them, or were they unconnected events, as all the other surviving ancient historians who write about the fire contend? 104 Did Nero order the fire, was it accidental, or is it perhaps true that Christians did set the fire? 105 Under what legal authority or judicial finding were Christians persecuted? 106 These problems can be dealt with here only as they impinge upon our special focus, what Tacitus says about Christ.

Of all Roman authors, Tacitus gives us the most precise information about Christ. But what he explicitly says about Christ is confined to the beginning of one sentence in 15.44.3: “The founder of this name, Christ, had been executed in the reign of Tiberius by the procurator Pontius Pilate.” 107 In what follows, we will examine the three main elements of this statement: the name “Christ”; Christ as founder of the movement of Christians; and his execution in the reign of Tiberius by Pontius Pilate.

As we have seen, Tacitus can spell “Christus” correctly, and he uses this spelling to correct the common misspelling “Chrestians.” Attention to accuracy in detail is characteristic of his work as a whole. To Tacitus, Christians (and, by association, their founder) are certainly not “Chrestians”—“good, useful ones.” Rather, they are rightly hated for their “shameful acts” (15.44.2). The word Tacitus uses for “shameful acts” is flagitia, which he last used in 15.37 about Nero. Christians belong to a “deadly superstition” (15.44.3), and have “a guilt which deserved the most exemplary punishment” (15.44.5).

Tacitus uses Christus as a personal name. In light of the “documentary precision” 108 that characterizes Tacitus’s statements about Christ, why does Tacitus not use the personal name “Jesus”? That Tacitus regards Christus as a personal name and does not seem to know “Jesus” cannot be said to impeach his overall accuracy, for two reasons. First, the New Testament itself moved in the direction of using “Christ” as a proper name independent of “Jesus.” 109 This could have been reflected in the usage that perhaps reached Tacitus, just as it certainly was in the Christian usage that reached Pliny (Letters 10.96). Second, and more significantly, even if Tacitus did know the name “Jesus” he presumably would not have used it in this context, because it would have interfered with his explanation of the origin of Christianoi in Christus, confusing his readers.

Tacitus calls Christ “the originator/founder [auctor ] of this name” of “Christians.” He does not mean that Christ literally named his movement after himself. Rather, “the founder of this name” means that Christ is the founder of the movement that bears this name, and thus there is a material connection between the two names. They are called Christianoi because they belong to Christ’s group. This is important in how he implicitly links the punishment Christ received with the punishment his followers received at the hands of Nero. The occasional use of -ianoi as a pejorative suffix fits the context here, where Tacitus has nothing good to say about Christians. 110

Tacitus could well have stopped here in his description of Christ, because he has explained the origin of “Christians” in his name. But he continues by informing his readers that Christ “had been executed in the reign of Tiberius by the procurator Pontius Pilate.” Many English translations reverse “the reign of Tiberius” and “by the procurator Pontius Pilate,” but Tacitus gives them in this more proper order, which should be preserved in translation. For “had been executed,” the Latin reads somewhat periphrastically supplicio adfectus erat. Supplicio means “punishment,” especially capital punishment, and adficere when construed with punishment often denotes “inflict.” So when combined, they mean “inflict the death penalty upon,” to execute. Tacitus expresses the idea of dying in a variety of ways, and this expression suits his style. But he does not say explicitly that Jesus was crucified. That Nero executed Christians links their fate with Christ’s, who was executed under Tiberius. As Harris perceptively indicates, the repetition of the verb adficere ties the two together: Christians were “punished [poenis adfecit ] in the most unusual ways” by Nero, and Christ “had been executed [supplicio adfectus erat ]” by Pilate. 111 That some (or all) were burned corresponds to the specific punishment under the Roman law for arson, from the ancient Ten Tables. Thus Nero made the punishment fit the crime, but did so on such a scale and with such personal ferocity that sympathy for Christians arose.

Finally, Tacitus remarks that Christ was executed “in the reign of Tiberius by the procurator Pontius Pilate.” The emperor Tiberius reigned from 14 to 37. Tacitus does not give the year of Christ’s death in the more formal way, “the X year of the reign of Tiberius.” Neither does he give the crime for which Christ was crucified; perhaps this was unimportant, and his readers would have understood it to be a crime against Rome. Pontius Pilate was the Roman governor of Judea from 26 to 36, years which fall in the reign of Tiberius. Pilate’s name, location in Judea, and time are given accurately, in agreement with the canonical Gospels, Philo, and Josephus. 112 The four Gospels are unanimous that Pilate did indeed give the order for Jesus to be put to death. Bruce’s judgment is fitting: “It may be regarded as an instance of the irony of history that the only surviving reference to [Pilate] in a pagan writer mentions him because of the sentence of death which he passed on Christ.” 113

Tacitus’s description of Pilate as a procurator is in all likelihood an anachronism. 114 Until Claudius in 41 C.E. gave each provincial governor from the equestrian class the title “procurator of the emperor” (procurator augusti ), the Roman governor was called a “prefect” (praefectus ). This was born out by the dramatic discovery in Caesarea Maritima in 1961 of the so-called Pilate Stone, the first inscriptional evidence of Pilate, dating from about 31. It reads, with brackets containing reconstruction of the lost Latin lettering, “The Tiberieum of [the Caesareans], [Pon]tius Pilate, [Pref]ect of Judea, de[dicates]” Even after this change in 41, there may have been a certain fluidity in the use of these two titles, especially in nonofficial writings. Most scholars agree that Tacitus, like other contemporary authors,’ 115 has made use of the procurator title that was more common in his own time, rather than the earlier and historically correct “prefect.” 116 A mistake like this hardly impeaches the accuracy of Tacitus’s other statements about Jesus, as Wells implies. 117 The name, location, and date of Pontius Pilate are certain, and both the procurators and prefects in Judea had the power to execute criminals who were not Roman citizens.

To conclude our discussion of the content of what Tacitus says about Christ, it is striking that most of what Tacitus says about Christians is vehemently negative and questioned by many historians, while what he explicitly says about Christ is neutral and accepted as accurate. He confines his remarks about Christ’s life to the founding of his movement and his death. He presents Christ’s death as a purely Roman matter. “Even if he had known about it, [Tacitus] would not have had the slightest reason to mention participation of the Jews” 118 Tacitus makes no mention of Christ’s teaching, and does not explain the revival of his movement by his resurrection 119 Neither does he mention that Christ is worshiped by the Christians. Finally, Tacitus does not explicitly trace any “shameful acts” of Christians to Christ; probably he cannot. But Tacitus still sees a sinister connection between the two. Christians follow a man executed by Rome, and they too are worthy of death. Nero’s error is that his punishment of Christians elicited popular sympathy for a rightly detestable movement, a sympathy shared by Tacitus himself. 120

What is the source of Tacitus’s information about Christ? Historians have proposed different kinds of sources, written and oral, Christian and Roman. To say where he did not get his information is easier than to show where he did. First, Tacitus certainly did not draw, directly or indirectly, on writings that came to form the New Testament. No literary or oral dependence can be demonstrated between his description and the Gospel accounts. 121 The wording is too different; the only commonality is the name Pontius Pilate, and this could easily come from elsewhere. Nor did Tacitus likely draw his information from another Christian document, if his contempt for Christianity is any indication. Second, Tacitus does not seem to have drawn on general hearsay. He would probably indicate this with an expression like dicunt or ferunt , 122 or explicitly call it a rumor , as he does the report that Nero mounted his private stage and accompanied the burning of Rome with a song (15.39), transmuted into the popular idea that “Nero fiddled while Rome burned.” Moreover, hearsay typically does not produce “documentary precision” about controversial topics like Christ and Christianity. 123 We cannot rule out that Tacitus found this information about Christ in another, now-lost Roman history that he used as a source. However, this cannot be demonstrated either, because Tacitus rarely indicates where he is relying on his sources, much less names them. A more likely source, but still not demonstrable, is a police or magistrate’s report made during investigations after the fire, which may have mentioned the genesis of Christianity.

Did Tacitus find a record of Christ in high-level Roman records? These records in Rome were of two types, the Commentarii Principis and the Acta Senatus. The Commentarii Principis was the court journal of the emperors. It contained records like military campaigns, edicts, rescripts, and other legal actions by the emperor. Tacitus reports that it was secret and closed, so he could not consult it. An illustration of its secret nature is recorded in his Histories 4.40, where he reports that the Senate wished to use it for investigation of crimes, but was refused access by the emperor in an ancient claim of executive privilege. Although Tacitus had no access, he complains about the reputed poor state of the archives. (Another indication of the state of these archives is perhaps found in Pliny’s letters to Trajan, where whenever Pliny refers to an imperial act, he gives the full text.) The other type of official record is the Acta Senatus, the senate’s archive of its own actions and activities. These were open, and Tacitus states that he used them, but a report about Jesus would probably not belong here. It would not be a report from Pilate or, for that matter, any Roman official in Judea, because Judea was an imperial, not senatorial, province, and so its governors would not ordinarily have reported to the Senate. The Senate could have investigated the fire of 64 and made some comment for explanation about Christ that ended up in its archive. But this remains a supposition, since we have no reference to it from any surviving source. Moreover, that Tacitus uses “procurator” anachronistically may indicate that he is not using an official imperial or senatorial document, which would not likely have made such a mistake.

An intriguing, though unlikely, source for Tacitus’s information about Christ may be inferred from a few ancient Christian authors. These authors mention that Pontius Pilate wrote a report to Rome immediately following the death of Jesus or once his movement in Judea had grown after his death. Justin Martyr, writing his First Apology to the emperor around 150, states that a record of the trial and punishment of Jesus called the “Acts of Pilate” was sent to Rome that even contained evidence of Jesus’ miracles (1 Apology 35, 48). Although Tertullian repeats this claim (Against Marcion 4.7, 19; Apology 5, 21), it appears on the whole unlikely. No corroboration can be found for it, and we have no indication that Roman governors wrote reports about individual noncitizens whom they put to death. More likely, Justin assumed the existence of this document in his pious imagination to bolster the standing of Christianity in the eyes of the emperor, just as he could claim that the emperor possesses “registers of the census” proving that Jesus was born in Bethlehem! (1 Apology 34). Or Justin may have known and regarded as authentic an apocryphal Christian document, as Tertullian seems to have. 124 Pilate is known in the New Testament, Philo, and Josephus as having a reputation among his subjects for being unjust and cruel, and it is almost unthinkable that he would send a report to the emperor detailing what would come to be known as one of his most notable failures. Even if Pilate had drawn up a report of Jesus’ trial, a view held today by only a few, 125 it would have gone into the closed imperial archive and not have been available to Tacitus or any other writer. That Pilate is called a procurator rather than a prefect is evidence that Tacitus’s information is not based on material from Pilate —Pilate would have gotten his own title correct, and Tacitus would likely have reproduced it faithfully.

The most likely source of Tacitus’s information about Christ is Tacitus’s own dealings with Christians, directly or indirectly. While Tacitus does not speak of any experiences with Christians, in two periods of his life he could well have acquired a knowledge of them. The later period was when Tacitus was governor of the province of Asia. At the same time, his close friend Pliny the Younger was governor of the neighboring province of Pontus-Bithynia and had difficult dealings with Christians. Tacitus could have had similar investigations or trials of Christians, who were present in several cities of Asia, or gained information about Christians from Pliny. An earlier period when Tacitus may have learned of Christians is often overlooked by historians puzzling out Tacitus’s sources. In 88 C.E. Tacitus became a member of the Quindecimviri Sacris Faciundis, the priestly organization charged, among other things, with keeping the Sibylline books and supervising the practice of officially tolerated foreign cults in the city. Tacitus speaks in this chapter about the Sibylline books being consulted and knows the precise ritual measures that followed (15.44), actions he could have learned of while serving some twenty-four years later in the priestly organization. Although Christianity was never an officially tolerated cult, it is not unreasonable to suppose that a priestly college charged with regulating licit religions would know something about the illicit ones. This is made more likely by the growing necessity to distinguish illicit Christianity from licit Judaism. So perhaps information about the proscribed foreign cult of the Christians came to him at this time.

Although what Tacitus says about Christianity has been and probably will continue to be debated, what he says about Christ is clear. In his sparse but accurate detail, Tacitus gives the strongest evidence outside the New Testament for the death of Jesus. His brief mention of Christ may fairly be claimed to corroborate some key elements of the New Testament account. Does this “Testimonium Taciteum” therefore provide definitive evidence of the existence of Jesus? If we could be certain that Tacitus’s account was based on non-Christian sources, the answer would be yes; but as we have seen, such independent knowledge is unverifiable. As R. T. France concludes, while the evidence from Tacitus corroborates the New Testament accounts of the death of Jesus, “by itself it cannot prove that events happened as Tacitus had been informed,” or even the existence of Jesus. This latter, France correctly argues, has abundant persuasive evidence in the New Testament. 126 Tacitus, careful historian that he was, presumed the existence of Jesus and had no reason to doubt it.

Sometime after 73 C.E., a man named Mara bar (“son of”) Serapion wrote an eloquent letter in Syriac to his son, who was also named Serapion. 127 The sole manuscript which has survived, now in the British Museum, is dated to the seventh century. 128 We know nothing else about Mara or Serapion apart from this letter. 129 The author does not explicitly describe his “school,” but to judge from its contents, he was a Stoic. That he was not a Christian is suggested by his failure to mention explicitly the name of Jesus or Christ, and by his statement that Jesus lives on in his new laws rather than by his resurrection. In writing to Serapion, Mara speaks of Jesus as the “wise king” of the Jews, whose death God justly avenged and whose “new laws” continue.

Mara’s city had been destroyed in a war with Rome, and he with others had been taken prisoner. At the end of his letter, Mara hints that the Romans who occupy his land out of a “vice for empire” will “receive disgrace and shame” for their actions. “If the Romans will permit us to return to our nation in justice and righteousness ..., they will be called good and righteous, and the nation in which they live will also be tranquil. Let them show their own greatness by letting us be free.” Most of his letter is taken up with an admonition to pursue wisdom in order to deal with the inevitable difficulties of life. Wisdom is able to help people deal with the loss of place, possessions, and persons, so that they may be virtuous and tranquil despite their hardships. Wisdom also brings a certain immortality. “The life of people, my son, departs from the world”; but for the wise, “their praises and their virtues go on forever.” To illustrate this idea, Mara says, no doubt with some reference at the start to his own troubles, that when the wise are oppressed not only does their wisdom triumph in the end, but God also punishes their oppressors:

What else can we say, when the wise are forcibly dragged off by tyrants, their wisdom is captured by insults, and their minds are oppressed and without defense? What advantage did the Athenians gain by murdering Socrates, for which they were repaid with famine and pestilence? Or the people of Samos by the burning of Pythagoras, because their country was completely covered in sand in just one hour? Or the Jews [by killing] 130 their wise king, because their kingdom was taken away at that very time? God justly repaid the wisdom of these three men: the Athenians died of famine; the Samians were completely overwhelmed by the sea; and the Jews, desolate and driven from their own kingdom, are scattered through every nation. Socrates is not dead, because of Plato; neither is Pythagoras, because of the statue of Juno; nor is the wise king, because of the new laws he laid down.

Although he is not named, and although “wise king” is not at all a common christological title, Jesus is doubtless the one meant by “wise king.” First, Mara speaks of this wise Jew as a king, and “king” is prominently connected to Jesus at his trial, and especially at his death in the titulus on his cross (Mark 15:26 par.). Second, Mara’s link between the destruction of the Jewish nation and the death of the “wise king” is paralleled in Christianity, where the destruction of Jerusalem is a punishment for Jewish rejection of Jesus. The Synoptic Gospels imply this connection (e.g., Matt 23:37-39, 24:2, 27:25; Mark 13:1-2; Luke 19:42- 44, 21:5-6, 20-24; 23:28-31), but Justin first makes it explicit (1 Apology 32:4-6; 47-49; 53:2-3; Dialogue 25:5, 108:3). In later church writers this becomes a common theme. Third, “the new laws he laid down” is probably a reference to the Christian religion, especially its moral code. What is more, we know of no one else beside Jesus in ancient times who comes close to this description.

However, if Mara has Jesus in mind, why does he not use his name? That Mara does not use “Jesus” or “Christ” is particularly striking because he implicitly appeals to the fame of the wise king’s teaching. This king and his laws are on a level with Socrates and Pythagoras, who were “household names” in the ancient world. Joseph Blinzler suggests without any supporting argument that “the writer was not familiar with the name of Jesus or Christ.” 131 While this is possible, it seems unlikely that Mara would appeal to the fame of a new movement and yet be unfamiliar with the name of its founder. More likely he suppresses Jesus’ name for the same reason he suppresses the explicit statement that Jesus was killed. More than a century ago, W. Cureton suggested that Roman persecution of Christians at the time of this letter led Mara to suppress Jesus’ name while making an allusion to him quite unmistakable to others. 132 This is possible as well, although the uncertain dating of this letter and the sporadic, localized nature of most persecution make it difficult to know for certain. A third possibility is based on literary style. Earlier in the letter Mara makes reference to Socrates and Pythagoras (but not Jesus) in a list of ancient notables, and remarks that “their praises and virtues continue forever.” In our passage he names these two again, but not Jesus, to stay in line with his own previous statements. This is also unsatisfying, as it too does not explain how someone famous for his teaching should be anonymous. Perhaps the reason lies not in the situation of Christianity, but of Mara: he does not mention Jesus because it is the Romans who desolated and dispersed the Jews; he does not want to offend his captors, the people who hold his loved ones. He also may not wish to imply, in the face of his country’s captivity, that the Romans were the instrument of God in reconquering Judea.

Those who have dealt with Mara’s letter give it widely varying dates, but most date it to the first century, shortly after the Roman conquest of Commagene in 73 to which the author seems to refer. Bruce states that it comes from “some indeterminate time after A.D. 73,” but seems to favor a date not long after that. 133 Blinzler and Evans likewise place it in the first century. 134 Moreau places it between 73 and 399, saying that more precision is impossible. 135 France argues that it must be later than the destruction of Jerusalem in 70, and could originate in the second century; Brown’s analysis follows this assessment. 136 Leon-Dufour dates it the latest, at ca. 260. 137

A date in the second century is indeed the most likely. It fits the situation of the writer just as well as the first century, and the situation of the Jewish people better. As Cureton states in arguing for a date in the second half of the second century, “The troubles to which the writer alludes as having befallen himself and his city will apply to those inflicted by the Romans upon the countries about the Tigris and Euphrates which had been excited to rebel against them by Vologeses, in the Parthian war under the command of Lucius Verus, A.D. 162-165.... Seleucia was sacked and burned by the Romans.” 138 More persuasively, the way the author speaks of what has happened to the Jewish nation also points to a date sometime after the second Jewish revolt (132-135). Mara says that “their kingdom was taken away” and they are “desolate,” language that could fit the aftermath of either the first or the second revolt. But his observation that “driven from their own kingdom, [the Jews] are scattered through every nation” applies particularly to the aftermath of the second revolt. It was only then that, by decree of the emperor Hadrian, all Jews were expelled from the city of Jerusalem and its environs, making it a Roman colonia which no Jew was allowed to enter. 139 No doubt there is some hyperbole in Mara’s language, but it is more than hyperbolic. So we may with some safety conclude that a date in the second half of the second century is the most probable.

Where did Mara obtain his information on Jesus? Like many ancient authors, he does not name his sources, so we are left to puzzle them out. Favoring a non-Christian source is that Mara does not state either that Jesus’ death is redemptive or that he lives through his resurrection, central elements in most types of Christianity. Some Christian apologists were able to compare Jesus to Socrates and other philosophers, but with the argument that Jesus was superior, not (as Mara implies) equal. Also favoring a non-Christian source is that “king” is not a typical christological title in early Christian literature, and “wise king” is not attested at all. Nevertheless, the balance of the evidence favors a Christian origin. First, Mara states that the Jews wrongly killed Jesus; they killed him just as the Athenians wrongly killed Socrates and the Samites Pythagoras. While Jewish tradition also states (as we will see in the next chapter) that the Jewish authorities executed Jesus, and Mara could conceivably have learned about the death of Jesus from Jewish sources, this tradition was probably a point of debate between church and synagogue that did not find its way into a wider polemic that Mara would have known. Moreover, the tradition that reached Mara seems to contain a negative judgment on the death of Jesus that Jewish traditions, which justify the death of Jesus as legal, would not have. Second, as we have seen, Mara links the death of Jesus with the destruction of the Jewish nation, as only Christian tradition did. While a Christian source is thus more likely, we cannot rule out that Mara also had non-Christian information, especially if the “new laws” of the “wise king” were as well known as he implies.

The results for study of the historical Jesus are slim. Mara’s letter is not an independent witness to Jesus, for two main reasons. First, it obviously links the life of “the wise king” with his movement and its teachings, making it possible that Mara learned about the wise king from Christians. Second, its assertion that the Jews killed Jesus is dubious at best. By his own logic, for Mara to implicate the Romans would go against his main point, that people who persecute and kill their wise men do so at their own peril. In sum, Mara’s letter says more about Christianity than about Christ. Most interesting is that this Stoic writer, from an area outside the Roman Empire, sees Christianity in a positive light, and compares its founder to Socrates and Pythagoras. 140 The earliest non-Christian philosophical reference to Christianity that we have, the letter of Mara shows the appeal that Christianity could have for some educated people. 141 Mara’s positive allusion to Christ and Christianity should not be read as an endorsement, any more than his mention of Socrates and Pythagoras is an endorsement of their respective philosophic schools. But he uses the example of Jesus and his teachings to urge his compatriots to persevere and the Romans to relent.

Lucian of Samosata (ca. 115—ca. 200) was a well-known Greek satirist and traveling lecturer. More than eighty works bear his name, most of them genuine, satirizing the faults and foibles of his time. In his book The Death of Peregrinus (Περì τ

ς Περεγρíνoυ Tελεύτης), written shortly after 165, Lucian describes the life and death of Peregrinus of Parion, well-known in the second century. “Peregrinus was not a minor figure whom (Lucian) plucked from obscurity to be the butt of a learned joke, but a Cynic on whose philosophical, political and religious pretensions no cultivated man could fail to have an opinion.” 142 Banished from his native city for killing his father, Peregrinus converted to Christianity and advanced in it, then left it for Cynicism and political revolution, and finally took his own life on a pyre near the Olympic Games of 165. Lucian’s point is to warn readers against the kind of life led by Peregrinus, whose emotionality and theatricality were opposed to the reasonable moderation that Lucian advocated. 143

The part of Peregrinus that deals with Christianity mocks the followers of that faith for their ignorance and credulity, although it does credit Christians with a certain level of morality. In the course of describing how easily a charlatan like Peregrinus can dupe them, Lucian comments on the founder of Christianity and his teachings:

During this period [Peregrinus] associated himself with the priests and scribes of the Christians in Palestine, and learned their astonishing wisdom. Of course, in a short time he made them look like children; he was their prophet, leader, head of the synagogue, and everything, all by himself. He explained and commented on some of their sacred writings, and even wrote some himself. They looked up to him as a god, made him their lawgiver, and chose him as the official patron of their group, or at least the vice-patron. He was second only to that one whom they still worship today, the man in Palestine who was crucified because he brought this new form of initiation into the world [έκε

νoν ὅν ἔτ

σέβoυσ

, τòv ἄνθρωπoν τòν έν τ

Παλα

στíν

άνασκoλoπ

σθέντα, ὅτ

κα

νὴν ταύτην τελετὴν ές τòν βíoν]. (§11)

Having convinced themselves that they are immortal and will live forever, the poor wretches despise death and most willingly give themselves to it. Moreover, that first lawgiver of theirs persuaded them that they are all brothers the moment they transgress and deny the Greek gods and begin worshipping that crucified sophist and living by his laws [ἔπε

τα δὲ ὁ νoµoθέτης ὁ πρ

τoς ἔπε

σεν αύτoς ὡς ἀδελφoì πάντες ε

εν ἀλλήλων, ἐπε

ἁν ἄπαξ παραβάντες θεo

ς τo

ς ‘Eλλην

κo

ς ἀπαρνήσωντα

, τòν δὲ ἀνεσκoλoπ

µένoν ἐκε

νoν σoφ

στὴν αὐτòν πρoσκυν

ν καì κατὰ τo

ς ἐκεíνoυ νόµoυς β

ν].

Peregrinus was then freed from prison by the Roman governor of Syria, who did not wish to fufill Peregrinus’s desire to become a martyr. Peregrinus then returned home to find murder charges still pressing on him. The story continues with no more references to Christ, and only one explicit reference to Christians, in which they terminate their monetary support of Peregrinus because they catch him eating some forbidden food (§16). 144

The text of the references to Jesus is stable, so we can turn immediately to matters of interpretation. Lucian talks about Christ in the context of his attack on Christianity. He accurately reports several things about second-century Christianity. He knows that Christians worship a god who was a man, and one who was crucified in Palestine. They have a strong belief in life after death which affects their present life. Christians “live according to his [i.e., Christ’s] laws,” especially brotherly love (cf., e.g., Matt 23:8: “You are all brothers”). Christians have their own scriptures that are regularly read and expounded. They visit and help their imprisoned fellow believers (cf. Matt 25:35) and communicate widely with each other. 145 Christians accept their key teachings by faith, not by philosophic reasoning.

Although this knowledge is rather impressive, other items Lucian reports make us doubt his accuracy. He says that Christians in Palestine have “priests.” Although this term for Christian leaders is attested in the second century (Didache 13:3, 1 Clement 40; Tertullian, On Baptism 17), the term “presbyter” is much more common. “Scribes” may have implicit New Testament support as a term for leaders in Matt 13:51-53 and 23:34. However, its wider, negative association in the Gospel tradition with Judaism made it unattractive as a title for Christian leaders. Nowhere is it explicitly attested as a formal title for Christian ministers. Lucian has likely taken these terms from Judaism and applied them anachronistically to Palestinian Christians, presuming that they would fit. The description of Christianity as a “new form of [mystical] initiation” is also an ill-fitting description. That Peregrinus could become not just a prophet or a leader in a second-century church, but even a “thiasarch and patron” is probably unlikely. 146 Finally, Lucian says that Peregrinus became “head of the synagogue.” Although this last term could be used in pagan cults for “head of the assembly,” it is not the sort of leader of a wider group envisioned by Lucian. These mistakes show that Lucian, like many classical authors, confused Judaism and Christianity at points and also interpreted Christianity as a mystery religion whether that category fit or not.

Lucian attacks Christ in order to attack Christians, but even that is not the main burden of his work. He regards Christianity as only one superstitious cult in an age given to credulity. He mentions Christians in one other work, Alexander, or the False Prophet §§25 and 38, but does not mention Christ there or elsewhere apart from Peregrinus. The information Lucian provides about Christianity fits well with the theme of this work. Like the Christians and their founder, Peregrinus looks to be martyred. When the Christians call the jailed Peregrinus the “new Socrates” (§12), this not only indicates his stature among them as teacher and leader, but hints at his eventual death by suicide. Already in §5, one who praises Peregrinus in a speech shortly before his selfimmolation “compares him ... even with Socrates himself.”

What does Lucian say about the founder of this cult? Lucian’s every remark about him fairly drips with contempt. First, we note that he gives no name to this founder. Instead, he uses the derogatory “that one” (ἐκε

νoς): “that one whom they still worship today” (§11); “that first lawgiver of theirs” (§13); “that crucified sophist” (§13). Lucian clearly does mean Jesus, judging from the other things said about him in these sections. 147 Lucian calls him by implication a “patron” or “protector” (πρoστάτης), a “lawgiver” (νoµoθέτης) and ”that crucified sophist” (ἀνεσκoλoπισµένoν ἐκεῖνoν σoφιστὴν). To call Jesus a “patron/ protector” is another way of saying that he is the leader of the group. Lucian sees this leadership as a matter of following his laws. When Lucian twice calls Jesus a “lawgiver” he refers to the “laws” of the way of life Jesus laid down for his followers. He sees Christianity’s way of life as coming from Christ himself. “Lawgiver” is not found in early Christian literature as applied to Jesus, although Jesus’ teachings can be called laws (Gal 6:2, 148 Rom 3:27, James 2:8, 12), and Christianity is sometimes called a “new law” (e.g., Barnabas 2:6; Ignatius, To the Magnesians 2). Moses, the founder of Judaism, was known as a lawgiver, and Greco-Roman parallels exist. 149 So it is not difficult to see how Jesus could be construed as a “lawgiver.”

Lucian also calls Jesus a σoφιστής, “sophist.” This term draws not on the New Testament or early Christian writings, but rather on contemporary polemical terms in Greek philosophy. 150 In the second century, the derisive label “sophist” was aimed at one who taught only for money and who could at times also be labeled, like Peregrinus, a “cheat.” 151 Lucian introduced Christianity sarcastically as “wisdom” (σoφíα), and its founder was its σoφιστής. The second lawgiver, Peregrinus, defrauded them like the first did. This notion is implied but not developed in the application of “sophist.”

Lucian gets even more specific by calling Christ “that crucified sophist” (§13), having already stated that the original founder was “the man in Palestine who was crucified for bringing this new form of initiation into the world” (§11). The verb he uses for crucifixion in both cases is a rare word, ἀνασκoλoπíξειν, not ἀνασταυρεῖν, the word usually used by ancient writers and always used in the New Testament and other early Christian literature. Lucian’s verb originally meant “to impale, fix on a stake,” but unquestionably refers here to crucifixion. He uses this verb exclusively for crucifixion; it also occurs in his Prometheus 2, 7, and 10, and in Iudiceum vocalium 12. The cause of this crucifixion is that “he brought this new form of initiation into the world.” Lucian’s main point seems to be that Christianity was from the first a condemned movement. His repetition of “crucified,” the only thing Lucian repeats about Christ, emphasizes the shameful origin of Christianity: it was founded by an executed criminal.

In section 13, Lucian outlines the teaching of Jesus. He construes his teachings as “laws,” and Jesus is the Christians’ “first lawgiver.” As we have seen, this is generally in line with some early Christian views. Next, Lucian states that Jesus taught his disciples to “deny the Greek gods” and links this to “transgression,” probably the transgression of Roman law. To judge from the evidence of the New Testament, Jesus never explicitly taught such a thing, apart from his affirmation of the Shema, which implicitly denies other gods—if not their existence, certainly devotion to them. In the predominantly inner-Jewish context of his ministry, there probably was no need to propound such a teaching. Christians who spread the gospel among Gentiles had to deal with belief in other gods (e.g., 1 Thess 1:9; 1 Cor 8:4-6), but the canonical Gospels do not trace this topic to the teaching of Jesus. Moreover, that Jesus taught that fellowship among Christians is associated with denial of the Greek gods is not supported by Gospel traditions, either canonical or noncanonical.

Did Jesus teach his disciples to worship him, as Lucian claims? Here again, Lucian is reading back from his (at this point) accurate knowledge of Christians into the life of Jesus. While Jesus may have received acts of worship during his ministry, the New Testament nowhere says that he taught it. Finally, Lucian states that the radical sharing of property among his followers was taught by Jesus himself. Once again, while Jesus certainly taught his followers a radical attitude to possessions and the need for sharing, an attitude that could be reflected in Lucian’s remark about Christians “scorning all possessions without distinction,” the actual treating of possessions as community property is not attested in the ministry or teaching of Jesus, but only in the first part of Acts (chaps. 4-5). Of course, in Lucian’s view this attitude toward possessions, when coupled with the alleged credulity and misplaced goodness of Christians, made them easy prey for a charlatan like Peregrinus.

What is Lucian’s source of information about Jesus? He knows that Christians have sacred books, and this raises the possibility that he drew his knowledge of Jesus from them. To judge from what he says here, it is unlikely that Lucian had read them. Most of the correct information he relates about Christianity was common knowledge in his time. 152 Moreover, a reading of the Gospels would have corrected some of his misconceptions, especially that Jesus himself taught his followers to deny the Greek gods and that early Christian leaders were commonly called “priests.” The use of the non-New Testament words “patron,” “lawgiver,” and especially his characteristic word for “crucified” also argues tellingly against a New Testament source. So there is no literary or oral connection between Lucian and the New Testament and other early Christian literature in regard to the person of Jesus.

In sum, the kernel of Lucian’s The Death of Peregrinus, including Peregrinus’s association with Christians, is likely true, but Lucian has also embellished much of it for satiric effect. It is likely, but not demonstrable, that some information about Jesus came with the story of Peregrinus itself and was embellished by Lucian for his purposes.

Sometime around 175 C.E., shortly after Lucian’s Peregrinus, the NeoPlatonist thinker Celsus wrote an attack on Christianity entitled True Doctrine (Aληθῆς Λόγoς). This work is the earliest known comprehensive attack on Christianity. Celsus mounted a wide assault: against Christianity’s Jewish lineage, its early leaders, its teachings and practices. True Doctrine perished, but a large amount variously estimated at between 60 and 90 percent was incorporated into Origen’s vigorous and lengthy response, Against Celsus (Contra Celsum , ca. 250 C.E.). 153 To judge from the long temporal distance between Celsus’s work and Origen’s response—some seventy years—True Doctrine had a lasting impact. Because we do not have Celsus’s exact words, but only what his literary opponent Origen reports him as writing, we must not press the wording too hard. Even though Origen presents most extracts from Celsus as direct quotations, caution is in order. Nevertheless, most scholars believe that Origen reports Celsus’s remarks about Christianity with a fair degree of accuracy. Celsus’s True Doctrine affords us a valuable perspective on Christianity by one of its most articulate cultured despisers. We also gain valuable information about Jewish responses to Christianity in the second century, because Celsus made extensive use of contemporary Jewish polemic against Christians. This polemic will be important when we examine early Jewish statements about Jesus in the next chapter.

Celsus seems to have begun his work with an introduction. 154 The first major section of his work, recounted in Book 1 of Origen’s Against Celsus , is a treatment of the unoriginality of the Christian faith; only a few references to the historical Jesus appear here, and they will be repeated and developed more fully later. The second main section (1.28- 2.79) is an argument against Jews who have become Christians, placed in the mouth of a Jew. This section has the fullest reference to Jesus. The third section is a comparison of Christianity with Greco-Roman philosophy and religion, and the fourth a critique of Christian doctrine, especially messianic prophecies, with little reference to Jesus. Fifth is a comparison of Jews and Christians unflattering to both; sixth, another attack on Christian doctrine, with some modest reference to Jesus. Next comes a polemic on the Christian teaching on God, then a section on its teaching of resurrection, and finally an attack on Christian exclusivism.

Celsus mounts a wide attack against Jesus as the founder of the faith. He discounts or disparages Jesus’ ancestry, conception, birth, childhood, ministry, death, resurrection, and continuing influence. According to Celsus, Jesus’ ancestors came from a Jewish village (Against Celsus 1.28), and his mother was a poor country woman who earned her living by spinning cloth (1.28). He worked his miracles by sorcery (1.28; 2.32; 2.49; 8.41). His physical appearance was ugly and small (6.75). To his discredit, Jesus kept all Jewish customs, including sacrifice in the temple (2.6). He gathered only ten followers and taught them his worst habits, including begging and robbing (1.62; 2.44). These followers, amounting to “ten sailors and tax collectors,” were the only ones he convinced of his divinity, but now his followers convince multitudes (2.46). The reports of his resurrection came from a hysterical female, and belief in the resurrection was the result of Jesus’ sorcery, the wishful thinking of his followers, or mass hallucinations, all for the purpose of impressing others and increasing the chance for others to become beggars (2.55).

He portrays the Jew having a conversation with Jesus himself, refuting him on many charges. First, he fabricated the story of his birth from a virgin; and he reproaches him because he came from a Jewish village and from a poor country woman who made her living by spinning. He says that she was driven out by her husband, who was a carpenter by trade, when she was convicted of adultery. Then he says that after she had been driven out by her husband and while she was wandering disgracefully, she secretly bore Jesus. He says that because (Jesus) was poor he hired himself out as a laborer in Egypt, and there learned certain magical powers which the Egyptians are proud to have. He returned full of pride in these powers, and gave himself the title of God. (Against Celsus 1.28)

Was the mother of Jesus beautiful? Did God have sexual intercourse with her because she was beautiful, although by his nature he cannot love a mortal body? It is unlikely that God would have fallen in love with her, since she was neither wealthy nor of royal birth. Indeed, she was not known even to her neighbors. He only ridicules when he says, When the carpenter hated her and expelled her, neither divine power nor the gift of persuasion could save her. Thus he says that these things have nothing to do with the kingdom of God. (Against Celsus 1.39)

These charges of illegitimacy are the earliest datable statement of the Jewish charge that Jesus was conceived as the result of adultery, and that his true father was a Roman soldier named Panthera. Panthera was a common name among Roman soldiers of that period, but most interpreters hold that this name was used by some Jews because of its similarity to parthenos, “virgin.” If this is the case, it would mean that this is a Jewish reaction to the Christian doctrine of the virgin birth, which does not become a leading Christian theme until near the end of the first century. Celsus has Jesus proclaiming his own virgin birth, which is of course not reflected in Christian writings but is attested in later Jewish polemic.

The sources that Celsus employed were varied. He had informed himself in some depth about Christianity, both from its writings and personal contact with Christians. He had read widely in Matthew, Luke, 1 Corinthians, and had a passing knowledge of other Christian books. He knew Matthew’s account of the death and resurrection of Jesus in some detail. He also seems to have read the writings of some early Christian apologists now unknown to us. Celsus also knew about Marcionite Christianity and Gnostic sects, whether from their writings or by some other means, we cannot tell. His source for Jewish polemic about Jesus he presents as a Jewish contemporary. Origin questions this, and modern scholarship as well sees this as a literary device that Celsus employed to give a unity to information he likely culled from diverse Jewish traditions. 155

The value of Celsus’s comments about the historical Jesus is limited. Because we do not have the exact wording of True Doctrine and cannot be sure that Origen has given us the order of Celsus’s book, conclusions must be tentative. Nevertheless, Celsus’s main attack on Christianity is philosophical, not historical. His more detailed information about Jesus, which by virtue of his knowledge of Christian writings should be fairly accurate, is distorted by his sharp polemic, a part of which is lampooning. Nevertheless, it is evident that Celsus is a rich source for pagan and Jewish polemic against Christianity, and to a lesser degree, its Christ. Indeed, among pagan authors Celsus is unique in relaying both Jewish and Greco-Roman objections to Christianity. His witness to Jewish tradition is especially valuable and will come into view again in Chapter 3 below. Polemical and tendentious, his treatment of Christ is of little value in our knowledge of the historical Jesus.

We can now gather up the threads of this chapter into several main conclusions. First, we note a significant variety of witnesses to Jesus in classical authors. The famous Roman writers on history and imperial affairs have taken pride of place: Suetonius, Tacitus, and Pliny the Younger. On the other end of the spectrum, the comparatively unknown writers Mara and Thallos have also contributed their voices. Philosophic opponents to Christianity such as Lucian and Celsus have also written about Christ. These writers have a range of opinion: from those perhaps sympathetic to Christ (Mara); through those moderately hostile (Pliny) and those fully hostile but descriptive (Tacitus, Suetonius); to those not interested in description, but who vigorously attack Christianity and in the process attack Christ (Lucian and Celsus). A variety of languages is also notable: Latin, the official language of Rome; Greek, both a common literary language and the language of trade; and Syriac, a main language of the eastern Mediterranean. Together, they speak of a variety of topics about Jesus’ teachings, movement, and death. And they know that Jesus is worshiped by Christians, which they relate to his founding of a movement.

Second, even as we note these various witnesses to Jesus, an oft-posed question arises: Why are there not more classical references to Jesus, especially among Roman writers? Writers on the topic of Jesus outside the New Testament often state that we have a paucity of references to Jesus in classical literature. Although puzzling out the silences of history is often difficult, a possible answer can be suggested for this silence. To judge from the New Testament and other early Christian literature, the relationship of Christ with the Roman state was a consistently prominent issue for Christianity; but Christ was not nearly such an important issue for Rome, to judge from surviving Roman writings. The empire and its government were occupied with other matters that seemed much more serious to them, as the proportion of treatment Tacitus, Suetonius, and Pliny gave to Christ suggests. We have seen that Christianity was of some interest, Christ himself was of small interest, and “the historical Jesus” of very little interest. The classical world’s growing interest in Christianity but relative disinterest in Jesus is accurately reflected in the three editions of the authoritative Oxford Classical Dictionary , where “Christianity” has a substantial article, but “Jesus” has none. 156

This issue can be sharpened: Why are the classical references to Jesus not more contemporary with him? After all, the earlier the witness to Jesus is, the more valuable it may be. Only Thallos is a rough contemporary of Jesus, but his witness is slight and uncertain. The writings of Tacitus, Suetonius, and Pliny the Younger come from almost a century after the death of Jesus. The writings of Mara, Lucian, and Celsus are at an even greater distance. Those who, over the last two hundred years, have doubted the existence of Jesus have argued that the lack of contemporary corroboration of Jesus by classical authors is a main indication that he did not exist. 157 This lack of contemporary Roman evidence may seem unusual to both students of Christian origins and ordinary Christians today, even if they are not inclined to doubt the existence of Jesus. They know from the canonical Gospels about Jesus’ fame throughout Galilee and even beyond (Matt 4:24; 9:31; 14:1; Mark 1:28; Luke 4:37; John 12:19). They suppose that his fame would have sparked Roman interest, perhaps during his lifetime but certainly in the generation following. They also suppose that there might be some official record of his trial and punishment. The early rapid growth of Christianity and its initial encounters with Roman authorities should also have stirred some early literary interest in Christianity. What the apostle Paul is reported to have said to the Roman governor Festus about his own activities, “these things were not done in a corner” (Acts 26:26), could just as well be said about the events of Jesus’ life.

Several factors combine to explain why we do not have contemporary classical witness to Jesus. First, the works of those Roman historians who were contemporary with Jesus, or lived in the next eighty-five years after him, have almost completely perished. Nearly a century of Latin historical writing has vanished, the work of all the writers from Livy (died in 17 C.E.) to Tacitus. 158 The only exception is the inconsistent, panegyrical work of Velleius Paterculus; but since this work extends only to 29 C.E. and likely was written in 30 about events mostly in Rome, we can hardly expect it to mention Jesus. 159 Of course, we must not assume that the works that have disappeared into the mists of time would have made any reference to Jesus. The closer to Jesus they stand, the less of him they likely would contain.

Second, a time lag typical of the ancient world explains why other classical writers who are roughly contemporary with Jesus also do not mention him. Historical interpretation of events was not the “instant analysis” we have become accustomed to, for better or worse, in modern times. Most works by major writers, especially self-respecting historians, used recognized literary sources from earlier, lesser writers. The former seem to have been reluctant to be the first to write about relatively recent events. For example, the first-century Jewish historian Josephus, in the introduction to his Jewish War , had to justify writing about “events which have not previously been recorded” (J.W . Preface 5 §15).

Third, Roman writers seem to have considered Christianity an important topic only when it became a perceived threat to Rome. We know from the New Testament and Josephus of several failed messianic movements in Palestine during the first century, but Roman historians treat none of them. Christianity would not have been treated by Roman writers unless and until it became an important political or social issue for the Romans. Pliny’s letters to Trajan indicate this, but even here only one letter deals with Christianity or mentions Christ. Moreover, if Christianity had never been perceived as a threat to Roman power, it almost certainly would never have been mentioned by official writers like Tacitus, Suetonius, and Pliny. If it had not become a significant religious movement, it would not have been attacked by philosophers like Lucian and Celsus. As it is, historians like Tacitus and Suetonius held Christianity in disdain, and seem to have written reluctantly about its founder.

A fourth reason accounts for the lack of contemporary Roman witnesses to Jesus. Romans had little interest in the historical origins of other groups, especially “superstitions.” “Romans regarded as impractical the detachment so prized by Greek thinkers,” 160 and this often drove them away from a dispassionate consideration of the origins of others. This practical orientation is illustrated in how Tacitus treats Druidic religion and Judaism. Tacitus describes Druidic religion in his Germanica but does not consider its origins or history. When he treats Judaism in his other books, he gives no treatment of its history—not even a mention of such major figures as Moses, Abraham, David, or the Maccabees. Roman practicality drove them to consider only what foreign religions were now, and what this might mean for Roman rule. 161

Finally, when we realize that not even extant Christian writings on Jesus are contemporary with him—the first Gospel probably was not written until about 70 C.E.—it is hardly reasonable to expect contemporary Roman writings to deal with him. In light of these factors, we cannot expect that classical writers on Jesus would be plentiful or proximate. Indeed, the references to Jesus that we do have in major early second-century writers such as Suetonius, Tacitus, and Pliny the Younger are quite what we should expect, given the nature of historical writing and Roman views of Christianity. From a first-century Roman perspective, Jesus was indeed, to use John Meier’s memorable phrase, a “marginal Jew,” but by the beginning of the second he was manifestly moving from the “margin” to the “text.”

A third main conclusion to be drawn on the classical writers analyzed in this chapter is that they see Christ through Christianity. Christianity as a movement is their primary, perhaps their only, concern. They almost always mention Christ as the founder, leader, or teacher of the movement, either to explain its name (Tacitus), to explain him as the heavenly head of a movement to be praised or cursed (Pliny), or to implicate Christians as evil (Celsus and Lucian). Only Mara deals with “the wise Jewish king” primarily and his movement secondarily. This strong connection between Christ and Christianity in the minds of classical writers helps to explain why they use the name “Christ” and not “Jesus,” even when their knowledge of Christianity would indicate that they might have known the latter name (Tacitus, Pliny, Lucian).

A fourth main conclusion is that the depth of treatment Jesus receives is quite shallow. The treatment we have seen in this chapter runs from a few words (Suetonius) to a bit more than one sentence (Tacitus, Mara), but never more. To those interested in Christian origins, this seems remarkably cursory and superficial. Once again, we must remember that at this time (50-150 C.E.) Christianity was only occasionally significant to most Romans. Moreover, they knew it as a superstitio, a term Christianity likely inherited from Roman views of Judaism. This label, roughly paralleled by our modern pejorative use of “cult,” probably served to dampen any small interest in Christianity’s founder. As we indicated above, Romans were not interested in how foreign cults began. By the time Christianity was written about, it was a widely disapproved, occasionally persecuted movement. So Pliny mentions Christ briefly to explain Christian worship and how to use the name of Christ in getting Christians to repent of their folly. Tacitus’s remarks are the fullest we have, but are still less than a sentence, and are almost parenthetical at that. 162 Thallos mentions Jesus only briefly for chronological reasons; and Suetonius does not get his name, place, or time correct.

Fifth, what classical writers know about Jesus comes almost completely from Christians. They seem to have little or no knowledge about him independent of Christianity. Given factors described above, we should not expect such information, or be surprised at its absence. The only possible exception is Tacitus, but even here it is more likely that he derived his information from Christians, either directly or by way of his friend Pliny the Younger. As a consequence, we obtain no reliable information about Jesus from the classical writers that we do not have in the Christian writings of this time. It seems that early traditions about Jesus did not pass independently of Christianity through the classical Roman world and surrounding areas. In all probability, Pilate did not send any report to Rome about Jesus, nor was there any early report about him to the emperors. To judge from how Pliny and Tacitus write, Christianity was not well known among Romans at the turn of the century. When those who write today on the topic of Christ in classical authors often sound the refrain, “We gain nothing new about Jesus from this writer,” this is perhaps based on an unreasonable expectation that something new about Jesus should come from them.

A penultimate conclusion relates to those who still argue that Jesus never existed. Since the classical writers contain no certainly independent witnesses to Jesus, by the strictest standards of historical evidence we cannot use them to demonstrate the existence of Jesus. On the other hand, given the nature of the evidence on Jesus from classical authors, neither can one use them as conclusive evidence to disprove the existence of Jesus. For better or worse, the debate must be confined to New Testament and other early Christian sources. Although independent confirmation by contemporary classical writers is excluded, we do gain a later corroboration of certain key elements in the life of Jesus. Corroboration of knowledge is important, in historiography as in the natural sciences. If classical writers had never mentioned Jesus, or especially if they had argued that he was a product of Christian myth-making, then it would be a different matter. They did treat Jesus as a historical person, the founder of his movement, and had no reason to doubt his historicity. It would have been easy (if Jesus never existed) to deliver a strong blow against Christianity by showing that it was based on a myth when it claimed to be based on history. But these writers accepted Jesus as historical, and all but one used the events of his life as arguments against Christianity: he began a movement that they called a pernicious superstition, and he was executed as a criminal.

Finally, it has become common in recent scholarship on the historical Jesus to sum up his person and work in one word or phrase. Jesus is a sage, a marginal Jew, a peasant Jewish cynic, a magician, an exorcist, a messianic herald, and so forth. What might these classical authors have called him, if we may make such a deduction from their writings? In the eyes of most classical authors Jesus would likely be, in a word, a troublemaker . He founded and led a superstitious and possibly seditious movement. Tacitus presents Christ as an executed criminal whose followers deserve the same treatment. Pliny sees Christ as the cult figure of a potentially dangerous superstition, and the policy laid down in Trajan’s answer strengthens this view. Despite probably getting his facts wrong, Suetonius’s view of Christ as an impulsor fits the common view of “Jesus the Troublemaker.” Lucian sees Christianity as philosophically and religiously dangerous, in part because Jesus was a “crucified sophist.” When Celsus, relying on Jewish and pagan polemic, calls Jesus a magician, he taps into long-standing fears of new religious movements. These classical authors see Christ through Christianity, so they do not like what they see. Only Mara, the only non-Roman whose witness to Jesus we have, sees the wise king of the Jews as a good person and one whose movement rightly continues. That the one opponent of the empire is the only one among our surviving classical sources to be positive about Jesus can hardly be a coincidence.