My 3 essays on the historical Paul are under review and should be out soon. In the meantime, here are some thoughts on Jacob Berman’s podcast on a three-fold Paul from yesterday:

Last Time:

Review-  The Letters of Paul in their Roman Literary Context: Reassessing Apostolic Authorship by Nina E. Livesey

My review of Livesey’s book has generally received positive feedback, although one issue has been such claims as Mark may have influenced Paul instead of the other way around.  I will just say if we push the dates of the letters of Paul into the second century, it becomes exceedingly difficult to determine priority in apparent literary dependence.

Ok, let’s look at Berman’s podcast on Paul from yesterday with some dot jot notes and a few of Jacob’s slides:

“How Many Paul’s, All or None? Was I Right The Letters Are Post 70 AD?: Paul the Imposter Exposed!”

Dot-jot highlights notes and a few of Jacob’s slides from the podcast:

– Jerome notes Saul of Gischala changed his name to Paul post 70 CE and might be the figure behind the Pauline letters.

– First Thessalonians talks about the wrath of God on Judea, but why would it do this prior to the Jewish war?  Paula Fredriksen thinks this is an interpolation, but maybe the whole letter is written later.

– This sounds a lot like Philippians:

– This is the only time Epaphroditus is mentioned with Clemens outside of Philippians, and so suggests a date of minimum 90s CE.

-Jerome said Saul was a young man when Judea was laid waste, which would make sense of a Paul writing in the 90s CE.

– In Galatians we have Paul arguing with James, supposedly the brother of Jesus.  Josephus mentions James’ death circa 62 CE

– Acts mentions Paul was pleading with Felix and Herod Agrippa the second, which would place Paul around 61CE

– Paul says in his letter to the Corinthians he fled from King Aretas in a basket, which puts him in the 30s CE.

– According to the Acts of Timothy we have Timothy, one of the co-authors of canonical Paul, dying at the end of the first century, which makes sense if Paul is Saul of Gischala, not the opponent of James much earlier.

– The letter to the Corinthians note God shouldn’t be worshipped in buildings as they will be brought to the flames, which is odd to say prior 70 CE.

-Berman supposes there was an earlier Herodian Paul, and a later Saul of Gischala to took over the name Paul as a title.

– Jerome thinks Saul of Gischala wrote Philippians.

– In Corinthians there are 3 shipwrecks, which seems to be how many Pauls are being combined into the same person.

– Some suggest Paul was killed by other Christians based on 1 Clement:

– there are 3 chronologies of Paul: One where he dies 30s CE.  The canonical letters seem to have him dying in the 40s, 49 with Galatians for instance.  There is a troublemaking Herodian in the 60s. There is finally a Saul who is a young man in the 60s.

-1 Paul went with Harod Antipas when he was exiled in AD 39.

– Acts conflates these 3 Sauls and adopts the chronology of Saul that Josephus is talking about. – James 5:6 is directed at the later Paul who is guilty of being in the tradition of the Paul who is responsible for James’ death long ago.

– The 90’s Paul used material from the Paul in the 30s, but not much – a letters to the Corinthians; the Apocalypse of Elijah.  This is not claiming everything is forgeries like that Dutch Radicals claim, but rather Paul like the succession of Popes. 

– Galatians seems to be imitating the way Josephus writes.

– 2 Thessalonians seems to be a critique of a previous Paul, “2 Thessalonians 2:2:

“not to become easily unsettled or alarmed by the teaching allegedly from us—whether by a prophecy or by word of mouth or by letter—asserting that the day of the Lord has already come.”

– Once Paul attacked James in 36-7 CE he went into exile.

-A post war Paul makes more sense of persuading the Jews, Jews who lost hope because the final wrath of God came upon them. 

– 1 Corinthians 3:10-18 suggests physical temples are subject to the flame but man himself is the temple of God, which makes more sense post 70 CE.  The spirit is in you, not the temple.

-Every gospel is aware of Josephus

***************Analysis*

Here are some ideas and questions the presentation sparked!

One of the most fascinating aspects of New Testament studies is intertextuality, literary dependance of one text on another.  We see this in the mimesis tradition of the Greeks/Romans, and the way Jewish writer rewrote older stories, like the way the Dead Sea Scroll writers got biographical details about their teacher of righteousness by copying the Old Testament.  In the New Testament, we might see Jesus presented as the new Moses, or John the Baptist as the new Elijah.  This appears in a key text in all synoptic gospels, the way Jesus died converting the soldier at the cross.  In my upcoming three articles I go into this in detail but for now let’s briefly look at the passage from Plutarch’s Parallel Lives that seems to be inspiring this gospel scene:

And a few days afterwards those who were keeping watch upon the body of Cleomenes where it hung, saw a serpent of great size coiling itself about the head and hiding away the face so that no ravening bird of prey could light upon it. 2 In consequence of this, the king was seized with superstitious fear, and thus gave the women occasion for various rites of purification, since they felt that a man had been taken off who was of a superior nature and beloved of the gods. And the Alexandrians actually worshipped him, coming frequently to the spot and addressing Cleomenes as a hero and a child of the gods;

Two of the soldiers declare Jesus on the cross to be the Son of God, while in Luke Jesus is declared innocent.  This parallelism extends in Luke Acts where the death of the forgiving Jesus becomes the death of the forgiving Stephen, and the converted soldier becomes the converted Paul.  In Plutarch the inspiring Cleomenes is countered:

but at last the wiser men among them put a stop to this 3 by explaining that, 824as putrefying oxen breed bees, and horses wasps, and as beetles are generated in asses which are in the like condition of decay, so human bodies, when the juices about the marrow collect together and coagulate, produce serpents. And it was because they observed this that the ancients associated the serpent more than any other animal with heroes.

Whereas Saul trying to stamp out the Jesus faith becomes its greatest champion, and in fact the one prophesied in the Old Testament to bring the message of God to the nations at the end of the age.  Here the parallelism is clear, Christ is the new and greater Cleomenes.  I thus think Livesey is right that the gospels are late, and the letters dependent on Acts.  The Jew Saul takes on the Roman name Paul of Sergius Paulos from Acts.

If we did not have Acts, would we know of a violent persecution of the Christians by Paul or a miraculous conversion story just from the authentic letters?  The authentic letters of Paul (generally considered Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon) provide some insight into his past and conversion, but without Acts, our understanding of a violent persecution of Christians by Paul or a miraculous conversion story would be much less detailed and more fragmented.

Violent Persecution of Christians:

From the Letters Alone: Paul does mention his past opposition to Christianity in a few places, but it’s vague compared to Acts. For example:

In Galatians 1:13-14, Paul writes, “For you have heard of my former life in Judaism, how I persecuted the church of God violently and tried to destroy it.” This indicates he actively persecuted Christians, but it lacks specifics about the nature or extent of the violence.

In 1 Corinthians 15:9, he says, “For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.” Again, this confirms persecution but doesn’t elaborate on dramatic events like imprisonments or executions.

Philippians 3:6 mentions his zeal as a Pharisee, noting he was a “persecutor of the church,” but offers no narrative details.

Without Acts: We would know Paul was a zealous persecutor of early Christians, but the vivid imagery of him overseeing executions (e.g., Stephen’s stoning in Acts 7:58-8:1) or traveling to arrest believers (Acts 9:1-2) would be absent. The letters don’t provide a clear picture of specific violent acts or their scope.

Miraculous Conversion Story:

From the Letters Alone: Paul alludes to his conversion as a divine event but doesn’t provide a detailed narrative:

In Galatians 1:15-16, he writes, “But when God, who set me apart from my mother’s womb and called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son in me so that I might preach him among the Gentiles…” This suggests a divine calling or revelation but lacks the dramatic elements like a blinding light or a voice from heaven.  When Luke says ‘All men will “see” the salvation of the Lord,” he uses the same work Paul uses elsewhere for visions of Jesus, meaning people may not have been seeing the risen Jesus but having experiences they interpreted as Jesus.  1 Corinthians 9:1 states, “Have I not seen Jesus our Lord?” which implies a visionary experience, but it’s not elaborated upon.  2 Corinthians 12:1-4 discusses visions and revelations, possibly hinting at his conversion experience, but it’s cryptic and not explicitly tied to the Damascus road event.

Without Acts: We would know Paul experienced a transformative divine encounter that shifted him from persecutor to apostle, but the iconic Damascus road story—complete with a blinding light, a voice from Jesus, and a three-day blindness (Acts 9:3-9)—would be entirely missing. The letters focus more on the theological significance of his calling than on a narrative of the event itself.

Without Acts, we’d have a basic outline from Paul’s letters: he was a fervent persecutor of Christians, motivated by his zeal for Judaism, and underwent a divine revelation that led to his mission to the Gentiles. However, the specific details of violent persecution (e.g., his role in executions or arrests) and the dramatic, miraculous conversion story (e.g., the Damascus road vision) rely heavily on Acts. The letters alone provide a skeletal framework, lacking the narrative vividness and historical context Acts supplies.  The killing of Stephen, as I said, serves a literary function in the parallelism between Luke Acts.

Does the fact in the letters that Paul points out his kin/cousins including Junia were in the Jesus movement  before him suggest that the historical Paul wasn’t actually going to the point of killing Christians as Acts suggests?

The mention of Paul’s kin or cousins, including Junia, being in the Jesus movement before him (Romans 16:7) does raise interesting questions about the extent of his persecution of Christians as depicted in Acts. Let’s examine this based on the authentic Pauline letters and the narrative in Acts, focusing on whether this detail suggests Paul wasn’t involved in killing Christians.

Evidence from Paul’s Letters:

In Romans 16:7, Paul refers to Andronicus and Junia, who are described as “my kinsmen” and “outstanding among the apostles, who were in Christ before me.” This indicates that some of Paul’s relatives or close associates were part of the Jesus movement before his conversion.

Paul’s letters confirm his role as a persecutor:

Galatians 1:13-14: “I persecuted the church of God violently and tried to destroy it.”

1 Corinthians 15:9: “I persecuted the church of God.”

Philippians 3:6: He describes himself as a “persecutor of the church” driven by zeal.

However, the letters never explicitly mention Paul killing Christians or being directly involved in executions. The language of “persecuting violently” and “trying to destroy” the church is strong but vague, potentially encompassing harassment, imprisonment, or other forms of opposition short of murder.

Evidence from Acts:

Acts portrays Paul (then Saul) as deeply involved in violent persecution:

Acts 7:58-8:1: Saul is present at Stephen’s stoning, “approving” of it, suggesting complicity, though he doesn’t directly kill Stephen.

Acts 8:3: Saul is described as “ravaging the church, entering house after house, dragging off men and women and committing them to prison.”

Acts 9:1-2: Saul is depicted as “breathing threats and murder” against the disciples, seeking authority to arrest Christians in Damascus.

Acts strongly implies Saul’s actions contributed to deadly outcomes (e.g., Stephen’s martyrdom) but doesn’t explicitly state he personally killed anyone. The “threats and murder” phrase suggests intent or involvement in lethal persecution, but the focus is more on arrests and enabling others’ violence.

Does the Kinship with Junia and Others Suggest Paul Wasn’t Killing Christians?

The fact that Paul had relatives like Junia and Andronicus in the Jesus movement before his conversion could suggest a more nuanced picture of his persecution:

Personal Connections to Christians:

Paul’s relatives being early members of the Jesus movement might imply he was exposed to Christian teachings or had personal ties to the community he later persecuted. This could suggest his persecution was more ideological or legal (e.g., reporting Christians to authorities, disrupting gatherings) rather than directly violent or murderous, as he might have been conflicted about harming people close to him.

However, zealous commitment (as Paul describes in Philippians 3:6 and Galatians 1:14) can coexist with personal ties. His zeal as a Pharisee could have overridden familial or social connections, leading him to act against Christians, even those he knew.

The letters’ lack of specificity about killing, combined with the presence of Christian kin, might suggest Paul’s persecution was less extreme than Acts portrays. For example, his actions could have involved arrests, intimidation, or synagogue discipline (e.g., floggings, as mentioned in 2 Corinthians 11:24) rather than orchestrating executions.

Acts, written by an author (traditionally Luke) who wasn’t an eyewitness to Paul’s pre-conversion life, may amplify Paul’s role as a persecutor for dramatic or theological effect, emphasizing his transformation from enemy to apostle. The “threats and murder” and Stephen’s stoning scenes in Acts add vividness not found in the letters.

The letters, being Paul’s own words, are more restrained and focus on his guilt and transformation rather than specific acts. The mention of kin like Junia could indicate Paul operated in a context where Christianity was already familiar to him, possibly tempering the extent of his violence compared to Acts’ portrayal.

The fact that Paul had relatives like Junia in the Jesus movement before his conversion doesn’t definitively prove he wasn’t involved in killing Christians, but it complicates the narrative in Acts. The letters suggest Paul was a zealous persecutor but stop short of confirming direct involvement in executions, focusing instead on general opposition to the church. Acts’ portrayal of Paul as complicit in deadly persecution (e.g., Stephen’s stoning) may be an embellishment to highlight his dramatic conversion. The presence of Christian kin could imply Paul’s persecution was more about legal or social pressure than murder, but his zealous mindset could still have led to violent acts, even against those he knew. Without Acts, the letters alone leave the extent of his violence ambiguous, leaning toward harassment or arrests rather than killing.

It’s interesting Acts identifies Paul as a student of Gamaliel and says Gamaliel taught tolerance of the Christians, which may suggest Acts is winking at the reader that the historical Paul was not the murderous persecutor of Christians he was portrayed as and it was really just a caricature for effect to highlight the power of Jesus to transform even the most terrible enemy.

This observation about Acts portraying Paul as a student of Gamaliel (Acts 22:3) and Gamaliel’s advocacy for tolerance toward Christians (Acts 5:34-39) is a fascinating lens through which to view the depiction of Paul’s persecution. It does raise the possibility that Acts is crafting a narrative that subtly undercuts the image of Paul as a murderous persecutor, perhaps to emphasize the transformative power of Jesus, as I suggest. Let’s explore this idea by examining the relevant details in Acts, cross-referencing with Paul’s authentic letters, and considering whether Acts might be “winking” at the reader with this portrayal.

Gamaliel and Paul in Acts:

Gamaliel’s Tolerance (Acts 5:34-39):

Gamaliel, identified as a respected Pharisee and teacher of the law, intervenes when the Sanhedrin considers harsh action against the apostles. He advises caution, saying, “If this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against God!” (Acts 5:38-39). This suggests a stance of restraint and tolerance, urging the council to avoid violence against the Christians.

This portrayal of Gamaliel establishes him as a voice of moderation, contrasting with the more zealous members of the Sanhedrin who seek to suppress the Jesus movement.

Paul as Gamaliel’s Student (Acts 22:3):

In his defense speech before a crowd in Jerusalem, Paul declares, “I am a Jew, born in Tarsus in Cilicia, but brought up in this city, educated at the feet of Gamaliel according to the strict manner of the law of our fathers, being zealous for God as all of you are today.” This ties Paul directly to Gamaliel’s teaching, implying he was trained in a Pharisaic tradition that, per Acts 5, leaned toward tolerance.

The reference to Gamaliel as Paul’s teacher could serve as a narrative hint that Paul’s zeal (which led to persecution) was not necessarily aligned with his mentor’s approach, creating a tension in his characterization.

Paul’s Persecution in Acts:

Acts depicts Paul (Saul) as a fierce persecutor: present at Stephen’s stoning (Acts 7:58-8:1), “breathing threats and murder” (Acts 9:1), and actively seeking to arrest Christians (Acts 8:3, 9:2). This paints a vivid picture of a violent, almost fanatical enemy of the church.

However, the connection to Gamaliel could suggest a disconnect: if Paul was trained by a teacher advocating tolerance, his extreme violence might be exaggerated or stylized to heighten the drama of his conversion on the Damascus road (Acts 9:3-9). The contrast between Gamaliel’s moderation and Paul’s aggression could be a deliberate narrative device to amplify the transformative power of Jesus’ intervention.

Evidence from Paul’s Letters:

Paul’s authentic letters (Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, Philemon) don’t mention Gamaliel or confirm Paul’s education under him, leaving Acts as the sole source for this claim. The letters do, however, confirm Paul’s Pharisaic background and zeal:

Philippians 3:5-6: Paul describes himself as “a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church.”

Galatians 1:13-14: He admits to persecuting the church “violently” and being “extremely zealous for the traditions of my fathers.”

These references align with Acts’ portrayal of Paul’s zeal but lack specifics about killing or extreme violence. The letters’ vagueness about the nature of his persecution (e.g., no mention of executions) could support the idea that Acts amplifies Paul’s role as a persecutor for effect.

The mention of kin like Junia and Andronicus being in the Jesus movement before Paul (Romans 16:7) further complicates the image of him as a murderous figure, as it suggests personal connections to Christians that might have tempered his actions, aligning more with Gamaliel’s restraint than Acts’ dramatic portrayal.

Is Acts “Winking” at the Reader?

The suggestion that Acts might be presenting Paul’s persecution as a caricature to highlight Jesus’ transformative power is plausible and aligns with the narrative style of Acts, which often uses dramatic contrasts for theological purposes. Several points support this interpretation:

Narrative Exaggeration for Theological Effect:

Acts aims to tell a compelling story about the spread of Christianity. Portraying Paul as a fierce persecutor (“breathing threats and murder”) sets up a stark before-and-after contrast, making his conversion a powerful testament to Jesus’ ability to redeem even the worst enemies.

The Gamaliel connection could serve as a subtle nod to the reader that Paul’s persecution wasn’t as extreme as depicted. If his teacher advocated tolerance, Paul’s actions might reflect a personal zeal that went beyond his training, but not necessarily to the point of orchestrating widespread killings.

Gamaliel as a Narrative Device:

By linking Paul to Gamaliel, Acts may be signaling that Paul’s Pharisaic background wasn’t inherently anti-Christian. Gamaliel’s tolerance contrasts with Paul’s early actions, suggesting that his persecution was an aberration rather than a natural extension of his training. This could imply that Acts is exaggerating Paul’s violence to make his transformation more striking.

Gamaliel’s speech in Acts 5 also foreshadows the resilience of the Jesus movement, which Paul later joins. This could be a way for the author of Acts to subtly undermine the idea of Paul as a cold-blooded killer, hinting that his persecution was more about zeal than murderous intent.

Historical Context and Plausibility:

Historically, Pharisees like Gamaliel were not typically associated with violent persecution of sectarian groups like the Christians. Pharisees focused on legal and religious observance, and while some opposed early Christians, their disputes were often theological or social, not necessarily lethal. Acts’ portrayal of Paul as a violent persecutor may draw on later Christian traditions to dramatize his role.

The letters’ lack of explicit references to killing, combined with Paul’s ties to Christian kin (Romans 16:7), supports the idea that his persecution might have involved arrests, harassment, or synagogue discipline rather than murder. Acts’ vivid imagery (e.g., Stephen’s stoning) could be a literary flourish to emphasize the stakes.

Theological Agenda of Acts:

Acts is less a historical record and more a theological narrative, emphasizing the spread of the gospel and the power of God’s intervention. Paul’s dramatic conversion serves this agenda, and exaggerating his pre-conversion hostility makes the story more compelling. The Gamaliel reference could be a subtle acknowledgment that the “murderous” Paul is a heightened portrayal, meant to showcase Jesus’ transformative power rather than reflect precise historical reality.

The connection between Paul and Gamaliel in Acts, juxtaposed with Gamaliel’s tolerance toward Christians, does suggest that Acts might be crafting a stylized portrayal of Paul as a persecutor to heighten the drama of his conversion. The idea that Acts is “winking” at the reader—implying Paul wasn’t truly a murderous figure but a caricature to showcase Jesus’ transformative power—is a compelling interpretation. The authentic letters support a less extreme view of Paul’s persecution, focusing on zeal-driven opposition rather than killings, and the presence of Christian kin like Junia further softens the image of a murderous Paul. While Acts’ vivid depiction serves its theological goal of glorifying Jesus’ power, the Gamaliel detail could be a subtle hint that Paul’s violence was exaggerated, aligning his historical actions more with harassment or legal opposition than outright murder.

There is also literary imitation/typology of conversion of a former enemy going on in Acts.  Price notes

As the great Tübingen critics already saw, the story of Paul’s visionary encounter with the risen Jesus not only has no real basis in the Pauline epistles but has been derived by Luke more or less directly from 2 Maccabees 3’s story of Heliodorus. In it one Benjaminite named Simon (3:4) tells Apollonius of Tarsus, governor of Coele-Syria and Phoenicia (3:5), that the Jerusalem Temple houses unimaginable wealth that the Seleucid king might want to appropriate for himself. Once the king learns of this, he sends his agent Heliodorus to confiscate the loot. The prospect of such a violation of the Temple causes universal wailing and praying among the Jews. But Heliodorus is miraculously turned back when a shining warrior angel appears on horseback. The stallion’s hooves knock Heliodorus to the ground, where two more angels lash him with whips (25-26). He is blinded and is unable to help himself, carried to safety on a stretcher. Pious Jews pray for his recovery, lest the people be held responsible for his condition. The angels reappear to Heliodorus, in answer to these prayers, and they announce God’s grace to him: Heliodorus will live and must henceforth proclaim the majesty of the true God. Heliodorus offers sacrifice to his Saviour (3:35) and departs again for Syria, where he reports all this to the king. In Acts the plunder of the Temple has become the persecution of the church by Saul (also called Paulus, an abbreviated form of Apollonius), a Benjaminite from Tarsus. Heliodorus’ appointed journey to Jerusalem from Syria has become Saul’s journey from Jerusalem to Syria. Saul is stopped in his tracks by a heavenly visitant, goes blind and must be taken into the city, where the prayers of his former enemies avail to raise him up. Just as Heliodorus offers sacrifice, Saul undergoes baptism. Then he is told henceforth to proclaim the risen Christ, which he does.

This argument about literary imitation or typology in Acts, drawing on the Tübingen critics’ observation that Paul’s conversion story (Acts 9:1-19) may be modeled on the Heliodorus narrative in 2 Maccabees 3, is a compelling lens for analyzing the text. The idea that Acts crafts Paul’s story to echo earlier Jewish narratives, particularly to depict the conversion of a former enemy, aligns with the literary and theological tendencies of the author (traditionally Luke). This perspective suggests that Paul’s dramatic conversion may be less a historical recounting and more a stylized narrative shaped by theological and literary patterns, with limited grounding in Paul’s authentic letters. Let’s explore this by comparing the Heliodorus story and Paul’s conversion in Acts, evaluating the Tübingen critics’ claims, and assessing the implications for the historical Paul’s persecution and conversion.

Comparing 2 Maccabees 3 (Heliodorus) and Acts 9 (Paul’s Conversion):

The parallels between the Heliodorus story in 2 Maccabees 3 and Paul’s conversion in Acts 9 are striking, suggesting possible literary dependence or typological imitation:

Context and Characters:

2 Maccabees 3: A Benjaminite named Simon informs Apollonius of Tarsus, governor of Coele-Syria and Phoenicia, about the Jerusalem Temple’s wealth, prompting the Seleucid king to send Heliodorus to plunder it. Heliodorus, an outsider, threatens the sacred Jewish institution.

Acts 9: Saul (also called Paul, possibly evoking “Apollonius” as a shortened form), a Benjaminite from Tarsus (Acts 22:3), is depicted as persecuting the church, the new “temple” of God’s people (cf. 1 Corinthians 3:16). Like Heliodorus, Saul is an antagonist targeting a sacred community.

Parallel: Both stories involve a figure from Tarsus (Apollonius/Paul) and a Benjaminite (Simon/Saul), with the antagonist threatening a sacred entity (Temple/church). The Tübingen critics’ suggestion that “Paulus” echoes “Apollonius” is speculative but plausible, given the shared Tarsian connection and narrative role.

Journey and Divine Intervention:

2 Maccabees 3: Heliodorus travels to Jerusalem to seize the Temple’s wealth but is stopped by a divine vision: a warrior angel on horseback knocks him down, and two other angels whip him, leaving him blinded and incapacitated (3:24-26).

Acts 9: Saul travels from Jerusalem to Damascus to arrest Christians but is halted by a blinding light and the voice of Jesus, causing him to fall to the ground and lose his sight (9:3-8).

Parallel: Both characters are on a mission to harm a sacred community, only to be dramatically stopped by a heavenly vision involving light, physical collapse, and blindness. The reversal of their journeys (Heliodorus to Jerusalem, Saul to Damascus) may reflect Luke’s adaptation to fit Paul’s context.

Restoration and Transformation:

2 Maccabees 3: Pious Jews pray for Heliodorus’ recovery to avoid blame for his condition. The angels reappear, announcing God’s grace, and Heliodorus is healed. He offers a sacrifice to God and is commissioned to proclaim God’s majesty (3:32-35).

Acts 9: Ananias, a Christian, prays for Saul’s restoration, and his sight is restored through divine intervention. Saul is baptized (akin to a sacrificial act) and commissioned to proclaim the risen Christ (9:15-20).

Parallel: In both stories, the former enemy is restored through the prayers of the community they threatened, undergoes a ritual act (sacrifice/baptism), and is transformed into a witness for the true God.

Proclamation and Outcome:

2 Maccabees 3: Heliodorus returns to Syria and reports the divine events to the king, testifying to God’s power (3:36-39).

Acts 9: Saul begins proclaiming Jesus as the Son of God in Damascus and beyond, testifying to his transformative encounter (9:20-22).

Parallel: Both figures shift from adversaries to proclaimers of the divine, with their missions redirected to glorify God.

Tübingen Critics and Literary Imitation:

The Tübingen School, notably F.C. Baur and his followers in the 19th century, argued that Acts is a later composition (c. 80-100 CE) that reconciles Pauline and Petrine factions within early Christianity, often prioritizing theological narrative over historical accuracy. Their claim that Paul’s conversion story is derived from 2 Maccabees 3 aligns with this view, suggesting Luke used Jewish literary models to craft a dramatic, typological narrative. Key points supporting this:

Lack of Corroboration in Paul’s Letters:

Paul’s authentic letters (Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, Philemon) mention his persecution of the church and a divine calling but lack the vivid details of Acts 9:

Galatians 1:13-16: Paul persecuted the church but was called by God’s grace, with Jesus “revealed in me.” No mention of a blinding light, falling, or Damascus road.

1 Corinthians 9:1: “Have I not seen Jesus our Lord?” implies a visionary experience, but it’s vague.

2 Corinthians 12:1-4: Paul references visions, but they’re not explicitly tied to his conversion.

The absence of Acts’ dramatic elements in the letters supports the Tübingen view that Luke constructed the conversion narrative, possibly drawing on 2 Maccabees 3 to create a compelling story of a transformed enemy.

Typological Patterns in Acts:

Acts frequently employs typology, portraying early Christian figures as fulfilling or echoing Jewish scriptural models. For example, Stephen’s martyrdom (Acts 7) mirrors prophetic suffering, and Peter’s miracles echo Elijah and Elisha. Modeling Paul’s conversion on Heliodorus fits this pattern, casting Paul as a redeemed outsider (like Heliodorus) who becomes a witness to God’s power.

The Heliodorus story, familiar to Luke’s audience (especially Hellenistic Jews), would resonate as a precedent for divine intervention turning an enemy into an ally, reinforcing the theological message that Jesus’ power can transform even the fiercest opponents.

Literary Purpose Over Historical Fact:

Acts’ portrayal of Paul as a violent persecutor (“breathing threats and murder,” Acts 9:1) may exaggerate his historical role to heighten the drama, as discussed previously. The Heliodorus parallel amplifies this by framing Paul as a figure whose hostility is divinely reversed, emphasizing God’s sovereignty.

The Gamaliel connection (Acts 5:34-39, 22:3), as I noted, further suggests Luke might be signaling that Paul’s persecution wasn’t as murderous as depicted, aligning with the idea that Acts crafts a stylized narrative rather than a strictly historical one.

Implications for the Historical Paul:

If Acts’ account of Paul’s conversion is a literary imitation of 2 Maccabees 3, it raises questions about the historical Paul’s persecution and conversion:

Persecution as Caricature:

The letters confirm Paul persecuted the church (Galatians 1:13, Philippians 3:6), but the lack of specifics about killing or extreme violence, combined with his ties to Christian kin like Junia (Romans 16:7), suggests his actions may have involved harassment, arrests, or synagogue discipline rather than murder.

The Heliodorus parallel in Acts, with its dramatic divine intervention, may exaggerate Paul’s role as a persecutor to mirror Heliodorus’ threat to the Temple, making Paul’s transformation more striking. This supports your earlier point that Acts might be “winking” at the reader, hinting that Paul’s violence is a narrative device.

Conversion as Theological Construct:

The absence of the Damascus road details in Paul’s letters suggests the blinding light, voice, and three-day blindness are Luke’s additions, possibly inspired by 2 Maccabees 3’s angelic vision and blindness. Paul’s own account of his conversion (Galatians 1:15-16) emphasizes an internal revelation and calling, not a public, dramatic event.

This doesn’t mean Paul’s conversion is entirely unhistorical—his shift from persecutor to apostle is consistent across the letters and Acts—but the specific narrative in Acts may be a literary construct to align with Jewish precedents like Heliodorus.

Historical Plausibility:

The Heliodorus story reflects a Hellenistic Jewish context where divine interventions protect the sacred (e.g., the Temple). Luke, writing for a mixed Jewish-Gentile audience, may have adapted this model to show the church as the new sacred community, with Paul’s conversion illustrating God’s protection and power.

Historically, Paul’s persecution likely involved zeal-driven opposition within Jewish communities (e.g., synagogue punishments, as in 2 Corinthians 11:24), and his conversion may have been a gradual or internal process, later dramatized by Luke to fit a typological framework.

The Tübingen critics’ observation that Acts 9 draws on 2 Maccabees 3’s Heliodorus story is supported by clear parallels: a Tarsian-Benjaminite connection, a mission to harm a sacred community, a blinding divine encounter, restoration through prayer, and a transformed mission to proclaim God’s power. This suggests Luke crafted Paul’s conversion as a typological narrative, portraying him as a redeemed enemy akin to Heliodorus, to emphasize Jesus’ transformative power. The absence of these dramatic details in Paul’s letters, combined with the Gamaliel reference and Paul’s Christian kin, supports the idea that Acts exaggerates Paul’s persecution (perhaps not to the point of murder) and stylizes his conversion for theological effect. While the historical Paul likely persecuted Christians and underwent a profound change, Acts’ vivid account appears to be a literary construct, possibly “winking” at the reader by embedding clues (e.g., Gamaliel’s tolerance) that the murderous Saul is a caricature to highlight divine grace. This doesn’t negate a historical core but underscores Acts’ priority of theology over strict history.

Price notes with further typology,

Acts has added details from Euripides. In The Bacchae, in a sequence Luke has elsewhere rewritten into the story of Paul in Philippi (Portefaix, pp. 170), Dionysus has appeared in Thebes as an apparently mortal missionary for his own sect. He runs afoul of his cousin, King Pentheus who wants the licentious cult (as he views it) to be driven out of the country. He arrests and threatens Dionysus, only to find him freed from prison by an earthquake. Dionysus determines revenge against the proud and foolish king by magically compelling Pentheus to undergo conversion to faith in him (“Though hostile formerly, he now declares a truce and goes with us. You see what you could not when you were blind,” 922-924) and sending Pentheus, in woman’s guise, to spy upon the Maenads, his female revelers. He does so, is discovered, and is torn limb from limb by the women, led by his own mother. As the hapless Pentheus leaves, unwittingly, to meet his doom, Dionysus 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” (850-851, 854-855). “He shall come to know Dionysus, son of Zeus, consummate god, most terrible, and yet most gentle, to mankind” (859-861). Pentheus must be made an example, as must poor Saul, despite himself. His conversion is a punishment, meting out to the persecutor his own medicine. Do we not detect a 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 suggestion that Acts incorporates typological elements from Euripides’ The Bacchae in crafting Paul’s conversion narrative (Acts 9) adds another layer to the argument that Luke shaped Paul’s story using literary models from both Jewish (e.g., 2 Maccabees 3) and Greco-Roman traditions. The parallels between the story of Pentheus and Dionysus in The Bacchae and Paul’s encounter with Jesus in Acts are intriguing, particularly in how they depict the conversion of a hostile opponent as a form of divine punishment or humiliation, transforming a persecutor into a servant of the very cause they opposed. The idea that Acts imbues Paul’s conversion with “ironic malice,” as seen in Jesus’ words to Ananias (Acts 9:16), further supports the notion that Luke is crafting a theological narrative with dramatic and ironic flourishes, possibly drawing on Greco-Roman literary tropes to resonate with a Hellenistic audience. Let’s analyze the parallels, assess their implications for Acts’ portrayal of Paul, and consider how this typology interacts with the historical Paul as known from his letters.

Parallels Between The Bacchae and Acts 9:

The narrative of Pentheus and Dionysus in Euripides’ The Bacchae (c. 405 BCE) and Paul’s conversion in Acts 9 share several thematic and structural similarities, suggesting Luke may have drawn on this well-known Greco-Roman tragedy to shape his account:

Hostile Opponent to a Divine Figure:

The Bacchae: Pentheus, the king of Thebes, vehemently opposes the cult of Dionysus, viewing it as a licentious and disruptive force. He arrests Dionysus (disguised as a mortal missionary) and threatens to suppress his followers (Bacchae 215-262, 352-354).

Acts 9: Saul, a zealous Pharisee, persecutes the early Christian church, “breathing threats and murder” against Jesus’ disciples and seeking to arrest them in Damascus (Acts 9:1-2).

Parallel: Both Pentheus and Saul are powerful figures who aggressively oppose a divine figure (Dionysus/Jesus) and their followers, perceiving them as threats to established order.

Divine Intervention and Reversal:

The Bacchae: Dionysus, a god in human form, is miraculously freed from prison by an earthquake (Bacchae 440-448). He then confronts Pentheus, orchestrating his conversion through divine compulsion, described as a form of madness: “Punish this man. But first distract his wits; bewilder him with madness” (850-851). Pentheus, once hostile, is compelled to embrace Dionysus’ cause, albeit disastrously, as he is led to his doom (922-924).

Acts 9: Saul is stopped by a blinding light and the voice of Jesus on the road to Damascus, falling to the ground and losing his sight (Acts 9:3-8). This divine encounter forcibly transforms him from a persecutor to a follower, commissioned to proclaim Jesus (9:15-20).

Parallel: Both stories feature a dramatic divine intervention that humbles and redirects the opponent. The blinding light in Acts echoes the bewildering “madness” in The Bacchae, and both Saul and Pentheus are rendered powerless before a divine figure.

Conversion as Punishment and Humiliation:

The Bacchae: Dionysus’ transformation of Pentheus is punitive and ironic. He compels Pentheus to dress as a woman and spy on the Maenads, making him a “laughingstock” (Bacchae 854-855). His conversion to Dionysus’ cause is not salvific but leads to his destruction, torn apart by the Maenads, including his own mother (1106-1136). Dionysus declares that Pentheus “shall come to know Dionysus, son of Zeus, consummate god, most terrible, and yet most gentle” (859-861), emphasizing divine power over human pride.

Acts 9: Jesus’ words to Ananias, “I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name” (Acts 9:16), carry a tone of ironic reversal. Saul, once a fierce persecutor, is humbled and must endure suffering to serve the cause he opposed. His conversion is framed as a divine act that both redeems and disciplines him.

Parallel: Both narratives present conversion as a form of divine punishment or humbling. The “ironic malice” you note in Acts 9:16 mirrors Dionysus’ intent to humiliate Pentheus, turning the persecutor’s zeal against them. However, unlike Pentheus’ fatal end, Paul’s suffering leads to redemption and mission.

Proclamation After Transformation:

The Bacchae: Pentheus’ “conversion” leads to his demise, but the broader narrative underscores Dionysus’ power, as the god’s cult is vindicated, and Thebes learns to fear him (Bacchae 1296-1309).

Acts 9: Saul, after his blindness and restoration, proclaims Jesus as the Son of God in Damascus (Acts 9:20), spreading the message he once opposed, demonstrating Jesus’ power over his enemies.

Parallel: In both stories, the opponent’s transformation serves to glorify the divine figure, making their power evident to others. Paul’s preaching, like the vindication of Dionysus, showcases the triumph of the divine cause.

Additional Literary Echoes:

I mention Luke’s use of The Bacchae in the story of Paul in Philippi (Acts 16), as noted by Portefaix (Lisbeth Portefaix’s work on Greco-Roman influences in Acts). In Acts 16:25-34, Paul and Silas are freed from prison by an earthquake, mirroring Dionysus’ liberation in The Bacchae (440-448). This strengthens the case that Luke was familiar with The Bacchae and drew on its motifs to craft dramatic scenes in Acts.

The motif of divine liberation (earthquake in The Bacchae and Acts 16) and the humbling of a proud opponent (Pentheus/Saul) suggest Luke adapted Greco-Roman literary patterns to appeal to a Hellenistic audience familiar with such stories.

Implications for Acts’ Portrayal of Paul:

The parallels with The Bacchae support the idea that Luke crafted Paul’s conversion narrative with literary and theological intent, drawing on Greco-Roman as well as Jewish models (e.g., 2 Maccabees 3, as discussed previously). This typology has several implications:

Literary Shaping Over Historical Detail:

The absence of the dramatic Damascus road details (blinding light, voice, falling) in Paul’s authentic letters (Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, Philemon) suggests Luke embellished Paul’s conversion to align with literary models like The Bacchae and 2 Maccabees 3. Paul’s own accounts (e.g., Galatians 1:15-16, “God… was pleased to reveal his Son in me”; 1 Corinthians 9:1, “Have I not seen Jesus our Lord?”) describe a divine calling or vision but lack the theatrical elements of Acts.

The Bacchae parallel, with its emphasis on divine punishment and humiliation, suggests Luke amplified Paul’s role as a persecutor (“breathing threats and murder,” Acts 9:1) to mirror Pentheus’ hostility, making his conversion a dramatic reversal that glorifies Jesus.

Ironic Malice and Theological Purpose:

The statement in Acts 9:16, “I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name,” echoes the punitive tone of Dionysus’ treatment of Pentheus. This “ironic malice” frames Paul’s conversion as both grace and judgment: he is saved but must endure suffering, mirroring his former persecution of others. This aligns with The Bacchae’s theme of a god humbling a proud opponent to demonstrate divine power.

Luke’s use of this motif serves a theological purpose: to show that Jesus, like Dionysus, is a “consummate god, most terrible, and yet most gentle” (Bacchae 859-861). Paul’s transformation from persecutor to apostle underscores the church’s triumph and Jesus’ sovereignty, appealing to a Hellenistic audience familiar with such divine reversals.

Paul as a Typological Figure:

By casting Paul in the mold of Pentheus (and Heliodorus), Luke presents him as a universal archetype: the enemy-turned-ally, humbled by divine power. Unlike Pentheus, who meets a tragic end, Paul’s story is redemptive, aligning with Christian theology, but the typology retains the theme of divine justice.  In fact, Saul becomes typological as Paul being the one prophesied who will bring the message of God to the world at the end of the age.

The Gamaliel connection (Acts 5:34-39, 22:3), as I previously noted, further complicates the portrayal, suggesting Paul’s persecution may not have been as murderous as Acts implies. The Bacchae parallel reinforces this, as Pentheus’ hostility is more about pride and control than actual violence, suggesting Luke may be stylizing Paul’s role for effect.

Historical Paul and the Letters:

The Bacchae typology strengthens the case that Acts’ portrayal of Paul’s persecution and conversion is more literary than historical:

Persecution: Paul’s letters confirm he persecuted the church (Galatians 1:13, “I persecuted the church of God violently”; Philippians 3:6, “a persecutor of the church”), but they lack specifics about killing or extreme violence. The presence of Christian kin like Junia (Romans 16:7) and the Gamaliel reference suggest his actions may have been less lethal, perhaps involving arrests or synagogue discipline, rather than the murderous zeal of Acts 9:1.

Conversion: Paul’s letters describe a divine revelation (Galatians 1:15-16; 1 Corinthians 9:1), but not the dramatic elements of Acts 9. The Bacchae parallel, like the Heliodorus one, indicates Luke crafted a narrative to fit a familiar literary pattern, emphasizing divine power over historical precision.

Suffering: Paul’s letters do mention his sufferings (e.g., 2 Corinthians 11:23-27, listing imprisonments, floggings, and hardships), which could align with Acts 9:16’s prediction of suffering. However, the letters frame these as apostolic trials, not as ironic punishment, suggesting Luke added the punitive tone to echo The Bacchae.

The parallels between Paul’s conversion in Acts 9 and the story of Pentheus and Dionysus in The Bacchae suggest Luke drew on Greco-Roman literary traditions to craft a dramatic narrative, portraying Paul’s transformation as a divine punishment and ironic reversal, much like Pentheus’ humbling by Dionysus. The “ironic malice” in Acts 9:16 (“I will show him how much he must suffer”) mirrors Dionysus’ intent to make Pentheus a “laughingstock,” emphasizing the power of Jesus to subdue even the fiercest enemy. Combined with the 2 Maccabees 3 parallel and the Gamaliel reference, this typology supports the Tübingen critics’ view that Acts prioritizes theological storytelling over historical accuracy. The historical Paul, as seen in his letters, likely persecuted Christians but not to the murderous extent Acts implies, and his conversion was a divine calling rather than the dramatic spectacle of Acts 9. Luke’s use of The Bacchae and other models crafts Paul as a typological figure—an enemy humbled and redeemed—underscoring the triumph of the Christian message for a Hellenistic audience.

*B*

One important topic for me in my upcoming articles is what the death of Jesus accomplished.  Clearly, if all that happened was the sin debt was wiped clean, the cross is made on no effect because people will just keep on sinning.

The concept of the grace of God in Christian theology encompasses both forgiveness of sin and the empowerment to overcome it, though interpretations vary across traditions. Biblically, grace (Greek: charis) is often described as God’s unmerited favor, freely given to humanity, primarily through Jesus Christ. It includes forgiveness—justification through Christ’s sacrifice (e.g., Romans 3:23-24, Ephesians 2:8-9)—but also extends to enabling believers to live righteously and overcome sin’s power.

In the Book of Acts, the grace of God is closely tied to the transformative work of the Holy Spirit, empowering believers to live boldly and resist sin. For example:

Acts 4:33: “With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. And God’s grace was so powerfully at work in them all.” Here, grace is linked to empowerment for ministry and godly living, not just forgiveness.

Acts 6:8: Stephen, “full of God’s grace and power,” performed wonders and resisted opposition, suggesting grace as a dynamic force enabling spiritual strength.

The broader narrative of Acts shows the Holy Spirit empowering believers (e.g., Acts 2:4, 9:17-18) to overcome fear, temptation, and persecution, implying grace as a sustaining power.

Theologically:

Protestant view (e.g., Reformed theology): Grace justifies (forgives) and sanctifies (empowers holy living). John Calvin emphasized grace as transformative, enabling believers to grow in holiness (Titus 2:11-12: “For the grace of God has appeared… teaching us to say ‘No’ to ungodliness”).

Catholic view: Grace is infused through sacraments, enabling believers to cooperate with God’s power to overcome sin (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1996-2000).

Wesleyan view: Prevenient grace enables response to God, justifying grace forgives, and sanctifying grace empowers victory over sin, potentially leading to “entire sanctification.”

However, the idea of grace as “power to overcome sin” doesn’t mean believers are sinless. Romans 6:1-14 explains that through grace, sin’s dominion is broken, but the struggle persists (1 John 1:8). In Acts, believers still face moral challenges (e.g., Ananias and Sapphira, Acts 5), but grace equips them to grow in holiness.

In summary, yes, the grace of God in Acts and broader Christian theology includes both forgiveness and the power to overcome sin, often through the Holy Spirit’s enabling work, though the extent and mechanism vary by tradition.

Regarding Jesus’ sacrifice, in the Book of Psalms, Psalm 51:16-17 specifically addresses God’s preference for a contrite heart over sacrifices:

Psalm 51:16-17: “You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.”

In the Book of Isaiah, while there isn’t a verse that directly mirrors Psalm 51:16-17, Isaiah 1:11-17 conveys a similar message, emphasizing that God rejects ritual sacrifices when they’re offered without genuine repentance or justice:

Isaiah 1:11-17: “‘The multitude of your sacrifices—what are they to me?’ says the Lord. ‘I have more than enough of burnt offerings, of rams and the fat of fattened animals; I have no pleasure in the blood of bulls and lambs and goats… Wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight; stop doing wrong. Learn to do right; seek justice…’”

These passages highlight God’s desire for sincere repentance and righteousness over mere ritualistic offerings.  In this regard, the transformation of the soldier at the cross mentioned above is not about the soldier’s sins being erased but a circumcision of the heart.

*C*

We know from Paul’s Philippian Christ hymn and Corinthian Creed that Paul thought God raised Jesus from the dead and because of his service unto death exalted Jesus to the highest possible position (Lord), a name and status Jesus didn’t previously have. Paul elsewhere declares Jesus the firstborn of many brothers and he was the apocalyptic “first-fruits” of the general resurrection of souls at the end of the age.

Paul claims Jesus was thus “translated” after death, and was seen by a number of people including Peter, the 12, James, the 500, and lastly Paul himself. Certainly, nothing supernatural is implied here. Bereavement hallucinations are common (my friend’s mother had them when her husband died), and there are mass hallucinations (e.g., the Fatima Sky Miracle), and Paul may certainly have been under cognitive dissonance stress persecuting a movement he had relatives in (e.g., Junia) that his teacher Gamaliel also said to treat with kindness an understanding.

We see such things in ancient accounts with the ascension of Augustus Caesar. Augustus died in 14 CE, and the Roman Senate officially deified him, declaring him Divus Augustus (the Divine Augustus). This was a continuation of the Roman practice of deifying prominent leaders, as seen with Julius Caesar. His deification was formalized through state rituals, including the construction of the Temple of Divus Augustus

Ancient writers like Suetonius (The Twelve Caesars, “Augustus,” 100) and Dio Cassius (Roman History, 56.46) mention omens and portents surrounding Augustus’s death, which were interpreted as signs of his divine favor or transition to godhood. For example, Suetonius notes that a senator, Numerius Atticus, claimed to have seen Augustus’s soul ascending to heaven, similar to the story of Julius Caesar’s comet. The Roman concept of apotheosis (becoming a god) was Roman deification which relied on visions, omens, state decrees, and public rituals.

*D*

Luke 3:6 – “All flesh will ‘see’ the salvation of the Lord”

In Luke 3:6, the verse is part of a quotation from Isaiah 40:3–5 (via the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible). The Greek text of Luke 3:6 reads:

καὶ ὄψεται πᾶσα σὰρξ τὸ σωτήριον τοῦ θεοῦ

(“And all flesh will ‘see’ the salvation of God”)

The verb used here for “see” is ὄψεται (opsetai), a future middle form of the verb ὁράω (horaō). This verb commonly means “to see,” “to perceive,” or “to experience visually” and is frequently used in the New Testament for both physical and metaphorical sight (e.g., perceiving or understanding something divine). In this context, Luke is quoting Isaiah to describe a future revelation where all people will witness God’s salvation, likely referring to the work of Jesus or the establishment of God’s kingdom. The use of ὁράω suggests a broad, collective experience of perceiving God’s redemptive act, possibly with a visionary or spiritual connotation, given the prophetic context. The likely meaning of “see” here is “experience,” not that all people will physically “see” something.

Paul uses the same word to describe the various people seeing/experiencing the risen Christ.

1 Corinthians 15:5–8 – The Risen Jesus “Was Seen”

In 1 Corinthians 15:5–8, Paul lists appearances of the risen Jesus:

ὅτι παρέδωκα γὰρ ὑμῖν ἐν πρώτοις, ὃ καὶ παρέλαβον, ὅτι Χριστὸς ἀπέθανεν ὑπὲρ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν ἡμῶν κατὰ τὰς γραφὰς, καὶ ὅτι ἐτάφη, καὶ ὅτι ἐγήγερται τῇ ἡμέρᾳ τῇ τρίτῃ κατὰ τὰς γραφὰς, καὶ ὅτι ὤφθη Κηφᾷ, εἶτα τοῖς δώδεκα· ἔπειτα ὤφθη ἐπάνω πεντακοσίοις ἀδελφοῖς ἐφάπαξ… ἔπειτα ὤφθη Ἰακώβῳ, εἶτα τοῖς ἀποστόλοις πᾶσιν· ἔσχατον δὲ πάντων… ὤφθη κἀμοί.

(“…that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he was seen by Cephas, then by the Twelve. Then he was seen by more than five hundred brothers at once… then he was seen by James, then by all the apostles. Last of all… he was seen by me also.”)

Given the Roman empire context in which Paul was writing, an “appearance” could have been a dream, an omen, a feeling, an apparition, the glance of someone in the crowd, a dove treated as symbolic, etc. The verb used here for “was seen” is ὤφθη (ōphthē), a third-person singular aorist passive form of ὁράω (horaō), the same root verb as in Luke 3:6. Both Luke 3:6 (ὄψεται) and 1 Corinthians 15:5–8 (ὤφθη) use forms of the same Greek verb, ὁράω (horaō). The passive ὤφθη in Paul’s writing aligns with Septuagint usage (e.g., Genesis 12:7, where God “appears” to Abraham), often indicating divine revelation, but Paul’s Post Caesar use suggests post-resurrection appearances the nature of which (physical sight, visionary experience, or both, omens like Caesar’s comet, etc) is not explicitly defined in the text.

In the gospels, the empty tomb and the ascension of Jesus most closely relate to ancient apotheosis narratives such as the Greek romances where a body goes missing from a tomb and it is naturally assumed the dead person has been deified. It was also such an issue in ancient times that bodies were being stolen from tombs that Caesar for instance had to decree an edict against it (e.g., the Nazareth Inscription). That doesn’t mean this happened to Jesus, but this gives a general idea of the atmosphere at the time.

Ancient novels like Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe were popular in the second century CE, and so it would make sense for the gospels to be located here. This period, part of the Second Sophistic, saw a surge in Greek novelistic literature, often called the “Greek romance.” These works, characterized by adventure, love, and dramatic plotlines, appealed to a broad, educated audience across the Greco-Roman world. Chaereas and Callirhoe, likely written in the mid-first to early second century, is one of the earliest surviving examples and was widely read, as evidenced by its influence on later novels and the survival of multiple manuscripts. Its engaging narrative and emotional depth made it a model for the genre, resonating with readers of the time.  “Greek romances,” became notably popular in the 2nd century CE, during the period known as the Second Sophistic, a cultural and literary movement in the Roman Empire characterized by a revival of Greek rhetoric, literature, and identity. While some novels, like Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe, were likely written earlier (mid-1st century CE), the 2nd century saw a peak in their production, circulation, and cultural influence.

Ancient Greek novels, including Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe (written around 25 BCE to 50 CE), feature stories of crucifixion and escaping crucifixion, often as dramatic plot devices to heighten tension and showcase the hero’s resilience or divine favor. These narratives share motifs with other ancient literature, including the trope of an innocent protagonist facing unjust punishment, sometimes with a missing body or miraculous survival interpreted as divine intervention. Below are key examples, focusing on Chariton and related works, with connections to the apotheosis theme:

Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe:

Crucifixion Scene: In Book 4, Chaereas, the hero, and his friend Polycharmus are falsely accused of murder and sentenced to crucifixion without trial. They are chained together, forced to carry their crosses, and led to execution as a public spectacle to deter others. Chaereas remains silent, displaying noble endurance, while Polycharmus laments, blaming Callirhoe. Before Chaereas can die, he is saved by Mithridates, who intervenes to stop the execution. Chaereas descends from the cross, expressing regret at surviving due to his despair over lost love. This escape is portrayed as a dramatic, near-miraculous reprieve, guided by the goddess Aphrodite’s providence, adding a supernatural element.

Empty Tomb and Apotheosis Motif: Earlier in the novel, Callirhoe, believed dead, is placed in a tomb. Her family visits at dawn to anoint her body, only to find the stone rolled away and the tomb empty, leading to speculation of divine ascension or tomb robbery. Some characters believe she was taken to the gods, echoing apotheosis narratives where a missing body suggests divinity. This parallels the crucifixion escape, as both events involve apparent death followed by a surprising survival or disappearance, interpreted as divine intervention.

Xenophon of Ephesus’ Ephesian Tale:

This novel (likely 1st–2nd century CE) also features crucifixion as a plot device. The protagonists, Habrocomes and Anthia, face multiple life-threatening situations, including near-executions. In one instance, Habrocomes is sentenced to crucifixion but survives through divine intervention or fortunate circumstances, reinforcing the trope of the innocent hero escaping death. The narrative does not explicitly tie the escape to apotheosis, but the miraculous survival aligns with the idea of divine favor, a common theme in these novels.

Other Ancient Novels:

Iamblichus’ Babylonian Story: This 2nd-century CE novel includes a scene where the hero, Rhodanes, is sentenced to crucifixion but escapes, again emphasizing dramatic survival. The escape is not directly linked to a missing body or apotheosis but contributes to the motif of divine or fated protection.

The trope of crucifixion and escape in these novels often serves to highlight the protagonist’s virtue or divine protection, sometimes with implicit parallels to apotheosis-like narratives where survival or disappearance suggests a higher destiny.

In Chariton’s novel, the empty tomb scene explicitly raises the possibility of Callirhoe’s divine ascension, as characters speculate she was taken by the gods. This mirrors ancient apotheosis stories (e.g., Romulus, Asclepius) where a missing body fuels belief in deification. While Chaereas’ crucifixion escape does not directly lead to apotheosis, his survival through divine providence (Aphrodite’s guidance) and the earlier empty tomb motif suggest a narrative pattern where extraordinary escapes or disappearances hint at divine status or favor. These are stories where a missing body or survival leads to beliefs in godhood.

Unlike historical apotheosis accounts (e.g., Romulus’ disappearance leading to worship as Quirinus), the novels use these motifs for dramatic effect rather than literal deification, but the cultural resonance with divine transformation is clear.

Crucifixion in these novels reflects its historical use in the Greco-Roman world as a brutal punishment for slaves, criminals, and rebels, often intended to humiliate and deter. The literary depiction of crucifixion, especially with escapes, draws on this reality to create suspense, emphasizing the hero’s innocence and divine protection. The empty tomb and survival motifs tap into broader Mediterranean beliefs about death, resurrection, and divinity, where a missing body or miraculous escape could suggest a transition to godlike status, as seen in myths like Romulus or Cleomedes.

Several ancient stories involve a missing body from a tomb interpreted as evidence of apotheosis, where a person is believed to have become a god or ascended to divine status. Here are key examples:

Romulus (Roman Mythology): According to Livy and Plutarch, Romulus, the founder of Rome, disappeared during a storm or whirlwind while addressing his troops. His body was never found, leading many Romans to believe he was taken up to heaven and deified as the god Quirinus. A senator, Proculus Julius, claimed to have seen Romulus in divine form, reinforcing the belief in his apotheosis.

Asclepius (Greek Mythology): While Asclepius, the god of medicine, was originally a mortal in some accounts (e.g., Homer’s Iliad), later traditions describe his death by Zeus’s thunderbolt for raising the dead. Some stories suggest his body was not found after his death, and he was elevated to divine status, worshipped as a god with temples across Greece.

Empedocles (Greek Philosopher): The philosopher Empedocles (5th century BCE) reportedly vanished after leaping into Mount Etna’s crater to prove his divinity. According to Diogenes Laërtius, his body was never found, and some believed he ascended to godhood, though skeptics suggested he staged the disappearance.

Cleomedes of Astypalaea (Greek Mythology): Pausanias recounts the story of Cleomedes, a boxer who, after causing deaths in a competition, went mad and hid in a temple. When the temple was opened, his body was missing, and an oracle declared him a hero or divine being, suggesting apotheosis.

These stories share a pattern: a missing body, often under mysterious circumstances, leads to speculation of divine transformation. The motif reflects ancient beliefs that extraordinary individuals could transcend mortality, with the empty tomb serving as a cultural symbol of their ascension.

*D*

Price and Detering have speculated Paul was actually Simon Magus.  In the Clementine literature there is a debate between Simon Magus and Peter where Marcionite/Pauline theology was put on the lips of Simon Magus.  Simon said he got his Jesus-theology directly through revelation, like the Paul of Galatians.  Irenaeus notes Simon Magus taught salvation by grace, not works of the law.

I tend to think a lot of the contradictions we see with Paul reflect he was trying to be all things to all people, and so the message might have been contradictory if we try to synthesize a whole.

1 Corinthians 9:20-22  “20 To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to gain Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might gain those under the law. 21 To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not outside God’s law but am within Christ’s law) so that I might gain those outside the law. 22 To the weak I became weak, so that I might gain the weak. I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some.”

One thing I look at in the upcoming articles I have under review is a Robyn Walsh literary network would have resulted in patchworks like the letters or the addition to the end of Mark or the beginning of Luke.  The Gospel of John was created and recreated in numerous parts, the earliest stratum being an appropriation and response to Euripides’ Bacchae as Dennis MacDonald plausibly suggests.  Berman noted the letters often had coauthors, which may explain their scattered presentation.

Using various hermeneutic strategies such as stylometric criticism we can determine the 7 “authentic” letters of Paul form a distinct Group (the contradict the Deutero-Paulines in Marcion’s collection) and pre-date Marcion (since he contradicts internal suggestions of order).  This tells us nothing about how much earlier than Marcion they are or if they reflect a single writer or a group of writers.  They certainly don’t imply a historical Paul the likes of which the traditional portrait would like.  The seven may be anywhere from post Bar Kokhba to early first century, so this needs to be debated on other grounds.

*E*

Getting back to the idea of a contrite heart over sacrifice:

In Biblical Greek, the term commonly translated as “redeemed” is often derived from words like λυτρόω (lytroō) or ἀπολυτρόω (apolytroō), which are rooted in the noun λύτρον (lytron), meaning “ransom” or “price of release.” These terms etymologically carry the sense of liberation through payment, often associated with freeing someone from slavery, captivity, or debt by paying a ransom.

For example:

λυτρόω (lytroō): This verb means “to release on receipt of ransom” or “to redeem.” In the cultural context of the Greco-Roman world, it frequently referred to paying a price to free a slave or captive.

ἀπολυτρόω (apolytroō): A related term, emphasizing complete release or redemption, often with a connotation of liberation from bondage.

In the Septuagint (LXX), the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, these terms often translate Hebrew words like ga’al or padah, which also imply redemption or release, sometimes from slavery or oppression (e.g., Israel’s redemption from Egypt in Exodus). In the New Testament, such as in passages like Galatians 3:13 or 1 Peter 1:18-19, “redemption” through Christ is framed as liberation from the bondage of sin, drawing on the imagery of paying a price to free someone enslaved.

1 Corinthians 6:20

New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

20 For you were bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body.

We were “slaves” to sin

Romans 6:17

New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

17 But thanks be to God that you who were slaves of sin have become obedient from the heart to the form of teaching to which you were entrusted

Mark 10:45

New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

45 For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life a ransom for many.”

Joseph of Arimathea was thus liberated from unjust dispositions of the Jewish elite at seeing God at work in how Jesus died. God makes Jesus’ death quick to overcome the brutal prolonged tortuous death of Rome and soldier at cross – Truly this was God’s son; an innocent man- both reflect the converting power of the crucified Chris over the two main enemies: the Roman soldier and the Jewish high council.  Price notes

42. Joseph of Arimathea (15:42-47)

Joseph is surely a combination of King Priam, who courageously comes to Achilles’ camp to beg the body of his son Hector (MacDonald, p. 159) and the Patriarch Joseph who asked Pharaoh’s permission to bury the body of Jacob in the cave-tomb Jacob had hewn for himself back beyond the Jordan (Genesis 50:4-5) (Miller, p. 373). Whence Joseph’s epithet “of Arimathea”? Richard C. Carrier has shown that the apparent place name is wholly a pun (no historical “Arimathea” has ever been identified), meaning “Best (ari[stoV]} Disciple (maqh[thV]) Town.” Thus “the Arimathean” is equivalent to “the Beloved Disciple.” He is, accordingly, an ideal, fictive figure

Crossan and Ehrman note the body would not have been taken down from the cross because the “being made a cautionary example” longtime humiliation and torture was the whole point of crucifixion. The power of the cross was not that it paid a sin debt, for if that were the case the cross could not be nullified, but rather the cross fails to convey a moral influence experience if it’s not proclaimed in an essential way (1 Corinthians 1:17).

*F*

Price notes that the Gospel of Mark was probably written in Rome.  It contains Latinisms like “centurion” even though it was written in Greek.  It makes sense that it was the venerated gospel of Rome, since it is 90 percent preserved in Matthew and 60 percent preserved in Luke, so if it was not venerated by the big time church in Rome it doesn’t make sense it was preserved unlike the Q document.  Price thinks the original version of Mark seems to be Ur-Mark that was penned by Marcion and the gospel itself was circulated and expanded by his students into what we have today.  Marcion thought some of the additions were okay so he thought it was fine for publication.  Marcion’s materials often seem to be a re-write of old testament stories.  Excluding the Torah commandments, Marcion thought a lot of the OT stories weren’t that bad and so retooled them for Jesus – which reflects the general Greco-Roman imitation practice of mimesis.

Most think Mark is written in 70 CE citing such evidence as the Olivet Discourse in Mark 13 predicting the destruction of the temple during the Roman-Jewish war.  Apocalypses that predicted the future because they were actually written after the fact were common in ancient literature.  That tells us that Mark is probably not pre 70 CE, though an apocalyptic Jesus may have indeed made such a prediction, and this correct prediction could have inspired post-temple Mark to write about Jesus.  But while all of this suggests Mark is probably after 70 CE, it doesn’t tell us how much later and apologists like an early date because it is closer to the historical Jesus.  Apocalypses as a genre can be much later than the events predicted.

Mark can’t be later than 175-180 CE because Irenaeus is the first writer to show he knows the four gospels.  Marcion was writing early in the second century.  Our earliest references to Jesus by the church fathers are sayings they seem to recite from memory, not narratives.  Students of Bultmann thought the gospels seemed apocryphal in nature.  Detering notes that in the Olivet discourse heralding the end Mark may have taken his apocalypse by revising some leaflets (as Eusebius notes) handed out before the second fall of Jerusalem from the Bar Kokhba revolt, a Jewish uprising against the Roman Empire that took place from 132–135 CE., which Matthew also had and so revised Mark thinking the leaflets more original.  They said there would be famines, pestilences, nations would go to war, earthquakes, etc.  Mark and Matthew would then be around 155 CE.

It’s possible that the socio-political tensions reflected in the Matthew’s Gospel could resonate with the circumstances leading to the revolt. Matthew’s emphasis on Jesus as the fulfillment of Jewish prophecy can be seen in light of the messianic fervor surrounding Bar Kokhba. The failure of the Bar Kokhba Revolt might have been used by early Christians, including by Matthew’s Gospel, to argue against Jewish messianic claims and reinforce their belief in Jesus as the true Messiah. The Gospel of Matthew contains themes of persecution (like in the Beatitudes, Matthew 5:10-12), which could resonate with the experiences of Jews and Christians during and after the Bar Kokhba Revolt. The revolt led to severe repercussions for Jews, including Christians, in Judea. The failure of the Bar Kokhba Revolt might have been seen by some Christians as divine judgment or as a sign pointing to Christian interpretations of eschatology and messianic prophecy, themes prevalent in Matthew.

Similarly with a late date of 1 Corinthians,

Though it is a patchwork quilt drawn from many sources and has suffered numerous interpolations and redactional glosses, the book as a whole is an attempt to provide a church order, much like the Didache, or Teaching of the Twelve Apostles to the Nations. Titus and 2 Timothy are likewise not real letters but church manuals with Paul’s name attached. Walter Schmithals (Gnosticism in Corinth, 1971) observed how virtually everything in the document would make sense if the unifying thread of the issues addressed in 1 Corinthians was Gnosticism. Christian Gnosticism was a second-century phenomenon, but Schmithals argued that it must have begun already in Paul’s day, since 1 Corinthians seems to refer to it. But it seems more likely to me that 1 Corinthians itself stems from the late first or early second centuries.  (Price, Robert M.. The Amazing Colossal Apostle: The Search for the Historical Paul (p. 324). Signature Books. Kindle Edition.)

************So, those are some things that came to mind watching Jacob Berman’s podcast. I have much more to say with my upcoming articles on this topic so hopefully soon!