• “Even if this man (Dionysus) be no God, as you think, still say that he is. Be guilty of a splendid fraud, declaring him to be the son of Semele, for this will make it seem she is the mother of a God, and will confer honor on all our race” (Bacchae lines 332-336).”

• “Christian theologians (masquerading as New Testament exegetes) attempt to trace the lightning-fast thought process that “must have” flashed through Saul’s synapses in a split second while he was falling off his horse: “Hmmm… I assumed Jesus was a law-breaker and got crucified for it, so he couldn’t be the Messiah. Now that I see he is the Messiah but was no less a scofflaw, I guess that means the Messiah came to negate the Torah! Yeah! That’s it! Okay, sign me up and hand me a ham sandwich!”[474] Absurd. You wish.” (Price, Robert M.. Holy Fable Volume 2: The Gospels and Acts Undistorted by Faith (p. 275). Mindvendor. Kindle Edition).

Paul’s conversion is one of the great testimonies to the faith in Christian history.  The arch persecutor of Christians becomes their leading proselytizer and advocate.  Is he not what former atheist Lee Strobel was to the evangelicals?

If something about Paul’s conversion story doesn’t smell right, you may be on to something.  For instance, Paul had relatives high up in the Jesus movement before he converted: “Greet Andronicus and Junia, my kinsmen and my fellow prisoners. They are well known to the apostles, and they were in Christ before me. (Romans 16:7).”  Some translators try to avoid this difficulty by translating kinsmen as Israelites, but Paul’s use of the word elsewhere pretty definitively means here it is cousins.

But, let’s look at the conversion story in Acts, which is a rewrite of episodes and themes from previous literature.  Price comments that:

• Paul’s Conversion (Acts: 9:1-19) As the great Tübingen critics first realized, the story of Paul’s apprehension by the risen Jesus never even comes in for mention in the Pauline epistles but is instead based on 2 Maccabees 3’s story of the conversion of Heliodorus. In it a Benjaminite named Simon (3:4) informs Apollonius of Tarsus, governor of Coele-Syria and Phoenicia (3:5), that the Jerusalem Temple contains fantastic wealth and suggests that the Seleucid king might want to seize it for himself. Once the governor tells the king, the latter sends his agent Heliodorus to confiscate the treasure. The very prospect of such a heinous violation of the Temple provokes universal wailing and praying in the Jewish community. God intervenes, and Heliodorus is miraculously repulsed by a shining warrior angel who suddenly appears on horseback. The steed kicks the astonished Heliodorus to the ground, where two more angels flog him (verses 25-26). Blinded, he is unable to help himself but is placed on a stretcher and carried to safety. Pious Jews refrain from gloating and instead pray for his recovery, fearing reprisals should Heliodorus succumb to his injuries. In reply the angels return, appearing before Heliodorus to announce God’s mercy: Heliodorus will recover and must from now on proclaim the majesty of the one true God. Heliodorus is not disobedient to the heavenly vision and hastens to offer sacrifice to his Saviour (3:35). Departing again for Syria, he reports all this to the king. Acts transforms the threatened sacking of the Temple into the persecution of the church by Saul (also called Paulus, perhaps a short form of Apollonius), a Benjaminite from Tarsus. Heliodorus’ trip to Jerusalem from Syria becomes Saul’s journey from Jerusalem to Syria. Like Heliodorus, Saul is stopped in his tracks by a heavenly being, goes blind and must be taken into the city, where the prayers of his former enemies raise him up. And as Heliodorus offers sacrifice, Saul undergoes baptism. Then he is told henceforth to proclaim his new Lord, and he does. But there is a second literary source for the story of Paul’s conversion, Euripides’ The Bacchae, in a sequence we will also find underlying Acts chapter 16, the story of Paul in Philippi.[472] Dionysus has appeared in Thebes disguised in mortal form as a missionary for his own sect. King Pentheus views the new faith as a licentious cult and decides to drive it out of the country. He arrests the apostle of Dionysus but soon finds him freed from prison by an earthquake. Dionysus plans vengeance upon the proud and foolish king, magically compelling Pentheus to undergo conversion to the very faith he sought to destroy. “Though hostile formerly, he now declares a truce and goes with us. You see what you could not when you were blind” (lines 922-924). He sends the dazed Pentheus, disguised in women’s clothes, to spy upon the Maenads, Dionysus’ female revelers. Pentheus’ identity is discovered, and the frenzied women tear him limb from limb, led by his own mother. As the hapless Pentheus departs on his suicide mission, Dionysus wryly comments, “Punish this man. But first distract his wits; bewilder him with madness… After those threats with which he was so fierce, I want him made the laughingstock of Thebes” (lines 850-851, 854-855). “He shall come to know Dionysus, son of Zeus, consummate god, most terrible, and yet most gentle, to mankind” (lines 859-861). Pentheus must be made an example, as must poor Saul, despite himself. His conversion is a punishment, giving the persecutor a spoonful of his own medicine. There seems to be a similar hint of ironic malice in Christ’s words to Ananias about Saul: “I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name” (Acts 9:16). ​This story of Paul caught up short on the Damascus Road is told three times in Acts (which I guess makes up for its complete absence from the Pauline Epistles!). Some details are inconsistent, to the dismay of inerrantists everywhere. In Acts 9:7 Paul’s bewildered companions are said to have heard the voice addressing Saul but to have seen nothing out of the ordinary. But in Acts 22:9 we read the exact opposite: Saul’s entourage saw the brilliant light but heard no one speaking but Saul. Acts 26’s version makes no mention of these bystanders (who, by the way, were very likely based on Ezekiel’s companions, alarmed at his wide-eyed trance state beside the River Chebar, Ezek. 3:15). Luke might just have forgotten what he had written earlier, but it also makes sense to suggest he was intentionally reshuffling details to provide a bit of variety for the reader. ​The words of Jesus (or a blazing light who says his name is Jesus) owe a debt to our friend Euripides. Maybe Jesus had been up in heaven reading the Bacchae before descending to earth and felt like running a few lines, specifically lines 793-795, where Dionysus tells his persecutor Pentheus, “If I were you, I would offer him [Dionysus himself] a sacrifice, not rage and kick against necessity, a man defying god.” ​What exactly did Saul see? Jesus himself? That seems to be implied in Acts 9:17, when Ananias of Damascus says, “the Lord Jesus… appeared to you on the road.” But of course the narrative itself implies Saul saw pretty much nothing, instantly blinded by a burst of light. ​Saul being overtaken on the road reminds us of the appearance of the risen Jesus, unrecognized, to a pair of disciples on the road to Emmaus. As they had lost faith in Jesus but had it restored, Saul conspicuously lacked faith in Jesus but gained it from the encounter. And, as Jesus was at first unknown to the two disciples, Saul asks, “Who are you, Lord?” ​While Jesus is appearing to Saul on the road, he is also appearing to Ananias in Damascus,[473] informing him that he will shortly have a visit from the notorious persecutor, news at which Ananias, in classic biblical fashion, recoils in fear: “Lord, I’ve, uh, heard of this man! He’s, ah, killing us, and you’re sending him here?” No doubt he’s thinking maybe he should follow Jonah’s example and scram! But it is a meek and beaten Saul who darkens his door, and Ananias baptizes him, laying hands on him to impart the Holy Spirit. Two things to note: Saul does not convert of his own free will. Like Pentheus and Heliodorus, he is simply conscripted despite himself. Christian theologians (masquerading as New Testament exegetes) attempt to trace the lightning-fast thought process that “must have” flashed through Saul’s synapses in a split second while he was falling off his horse: “Hmmm… I assumed Jesus was a law-breaker and got crucified for it, so he couldn’t be the Messiah. Now that I see he is the Messiah but was no less a scofflaw, I guess that means the Messiah came to negate the Torah! Yeah! That’s it! Okay, sign me up and hand me a ham sandwich!”[474] Absurd. You wish. (Price, Robert M.. Holy Fable Volume 2: The Gospels and Acts Undistorted by Faith (p. 275). Mindvendor. Kindle Edition).

It is remarkable in this pivotal place in Acts, like we discussed before with Dennis MacDonald’s interpretation of the earliest stratum of the Gospel of John, that we have reference to Euripides Bacchae.  But why is Luke telling the story this way?  Wouldn’t the story be more impressive if Paul converted of his own volition rather than being overwhelmed?  As I said before, this is why John has Judas betray Jesus according to scriptures, because it shows it wasn’t an accident, but God was in control the whole time.  So, the Saint’s would martyr themselves out of love of Jesus, just as an enemy such as Paul will undergo the same suicide mission. 

But, why the centrality of Euripides’ Bacchae in Acts and John.  Price comments that:

• Paul as Dionysus (Acts 16:11-40): Now we find ourselves in 2 Acts. The Philippi episode is permeated so thoroughly with the influence of The Bacchae that we might call it “Deutero-Euripides.” You’ll recall that the story of Paul’s conversion owed a great debt to the play. Saul was Luke’s version of the persecutor Pentheus. The risen Jesus who turned him around in his tracks corresponded to Dionysus, etc. But in chapter 16, the roles change: now Paul is Dionysus, the missionary of his own religion. The group of women Paul meets outside the city on the riverbank is a thinly disguised version of the Bacchae, or Maenads, the women followers of Dionysus who encamp outside of Thebes and frolic in inspired ecstasy. Pentheus exclaims, “reports reached me of some strange mischief here, stories of our women leaving home to frisk in mock ecstasies among the thickets on the mountain, dancing in honor of the latest divinity, a certain Dionysus, whoever he may be” (lines 216-220). Teiresias warns Pentheus, “Moreover, this is a god of prophecy. His worshippers, like madmen, are endowed with mantic powers” (lines 297-299). This last detail is carried over by Luke in his story of the unnamed Pythoness (Luke uses the phrase, “python spirit” rather than the familiar “demon” or “unclean spirit,” etc.), an oracle who announces Paul as the herald of salvation. In Luke’s rewrite of Euripides this sequence does not make much sense: the oracle dogs Paul’s steps daily, crying out like John the Baptist hyping Jesus—and Luke has Paul exorcize her! This halfway makes sense in that Luke remembers the prophetesses were pagans in Euripides’ original. In that context the prophetic women are proclaiming their savior Dionysus. But Luke has re-identified that savior as Jesus. If Acts had the woman following Paul, and proclaiming Dionysus, the exorcism would make sense. Meanwhile, Lydia, a local merchant, has become one of Paul’s converts, a Christian Maenad. Paul is imprisoned on account of the exorcism, just as Dionysus is clapped in the clink at Pentheus’ order. But an earthquake devastates Pentheus’ prison, freeing Dionysus who strolls into Pentheus’ throne room gloating. Dionysus commands: “Let the earthquake come! Shatter the floor of the world!” (line 585). The Chorus responds, “Look there, how the palace of Pentheus totters. Look, the palace is collapsing!” (lines 586-587). In Acts we see Paul and his new side-kick Silas freed from their bonds by an earthquake, too. And, though Dionysus mocks Pentheus, his former captor, Paul reassures the Philippian jailor that he and his fellow prisoners have not escaped. The jailor is greatly relieved since, had they fled, he would have paid for his “negligence” with his life. He agrees to convert to Christianity. Pentheus, at this point, converts to the cult of Dionysus, though it doesn’t end happily for him. ​In light of all this, it ought to be obvious that the Philippi episode has no discernible basis in historical fact.[495] I would guess that the author of the Greek 2 Acts had recognized the use of the Bacchae in the Aramaic 1 Acts and got the idea of repurposing the same original story in his continuation. ​At the end of the next chapter we meet a new Christian convert named Dionysius (17:34). I doubt that’s a coincidence.  (Price, Robert M.. Holy Fable Volume 2: The Gospels and Acts Undistorted by Faith (pp. 292-293). Mindvendor. Kindle Edition).

We thus have 2 stories in Acts that are absurd as history, but point toward Euripides as the underlying text.  Why?  There is a fascinating line in the Bacchae that points to an interesting social experiment.  Cadmust points out:

• “Even if this man (Dionysus) be no God, as you think, still say that he is. Be guilty of a splendid fraud, declaring him to be the son of Semele, for this will make it seem she is the mother of a God, and will confer honor on all our race” (Bacchae lines 332-336).” 

What we seem to have a lot of in these Christian texts is followers engaging in suicidal martyrdom, as Jesus did, emphatically stamping/proving their faith. Such suicidal pacts were known in antiquity, and sometimes known to be fraudulent, which we now know from archaeological records about Josephus’s mass suicide account, which never really happened.

Tertullian, one of the 2nd-century ecclesiastical writers wrote that “the blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church”, implying that a martyr’s willing sacrifice of their lives leads to the conversion of others.  Martyrdom was an irony found in the Pauline epistles: “to live outside of Christ is to die, and to die in Christ is to live.” In Ad Martyras, Tertullian writes that some Christians “eagerly desired it” (et ultro appetita) [i.e. martyrdom].  Reported early Christian martyrs include Stephen, Peter, Paul, and James Jesus’s brother, and James and John sons of Zebedee.  In Christianity, a martyr is a person considered to have died because of their testimony for Jesus or faith in Jesus.

So, martyrdom was both an expression of the power of one’s faith (in the case of Peter, for instance), and of God’s power (such as reflecting Paul in Acts).  And they may simply be later additions to foster faith. Dr. Candida Moss says:

• All accounts of martyred Apostles, all of them, are full of the ridiculous and thoroughly biased toward glorifying the subject and persuading the reader to have confidence and believe, and at least a century late, and by unknown authors using unknown sources—in fact, we cannot even establish that they were using sources at all. Not one eyewitness or even contemporary source exists for any of them. Nor any neutral witnesses (or even contemporaries). Nor any critical historical account at all. What we have instead, are the very worst and least reliable sources you can ever have for anything. (See Candida Moss, The Myth of Persecution, Harper 2013.)

Here’s an interesting question:  Could some of the earliest Christians, like Jesus, have been trying to get themselves killed?  We are remined of the last words of Socrates to Crito giving thanks for the poison to cure his soul of the prison of his body and for the effects the unjust death of noble Socrates would have on society.  And it worked: We no longer execute people for being a gadfly/nuisance (in civilized society anyway).