What the in the World Is the Multiverse?

If you listen to debates about the existence of God, there is a word that has been appearing more and more in recent years: the word multiverse.

Unless you’re a science fiction or comic book fan, this term is likely unfamiliar. What does it mean, and what does it have to do with the existence of God?

Let’s start with what it means.

What is the multiverse?

From the sound of the word, you might guess that the multiverse is some kind of alternative to the universe, and you’d be right.

The idea is that the physical universe that we see around us might not be all there is to reality. There could be other realms as well. These have been called other universes, parallel universes, and alternate universes.

That’s ironic, since the term universe used to mean “everything that exists.”

If you insist on that meaning, then these realms beyond the physical universe that we see couldn’t be other universes, because the universe would be everything that is. Instead, they would have to be other, unseen parts of the universe.

But this is not the way the language has been developing, and today terms like parallel universeand alternate universe are common in both science and science fiction.

Other even looser expressions (e.g., parallel worlds, alternate realities, other dimensions) are also used to refer to basically the same things: realms other than the visible universe that we see around us. The claim that we live in a multiverse is the claim that there are multiple universes that can be grouped into a single, overall “multiverse.”

Could a multiverse exist?

It depends on how you are using terms. If you use universe in its classical sense, to refer to everything that exists, then, no, there could not be a multiverse. But there could still be many realms other than the part of the overall universe that is visible to us.

But if you avoid quarreling about words (cf. 1 Tim. 6:4, 2 Tim. 2:14) and accept the way the terms are used currently in scientific circles then, yes, there could be a multiverse. God is omnipotent, and if he chooses to create more than one realm of existence, he can do that.

Why, then, does the concept come up in arguments against God’s existence?

Constants

We’re all familiar with Einstein’s famous formula E=mc2. In this formula, E stands for energy, mstands for mass, and c stands for the speed of light.

E and can change. The amount of energy and the amount of mass that something has can vary over time. But c cannot change. The speed of light is a constant. In a vacuum, the speed of light is always 186,292 miles per second—no more and no less.

The speed of light is just one constant that governs our universe. There are many more: things like the strength of gravity, the mass of the electron, and dozens of others that most people have never heard of. Scientists do not understand why these constants have the values that they do, and this is a source of concern.

For example, one constant that is related to the speed of light is known as the fine-structure constant. In 1985, the Nobel Prize winning physicist Richard Feynman wrote that this number “has been a mystery ever since it was discovered more than fifty years ago, and all good theoretical physicists put this number up on their wall and worry about it.”

He continued: “It’s one of the greatest damn mysteries of physics: a magic number that comes to us with no understanding by man. You might say the ‘hand of God’ wrote that number” (QED: The Strange Theory of Light and Matter, p. 129; emphasis in original).

Magic numbers from God?

Here is where the question of God comes into the picture: It appears that the physical constants of our universe are finely tuned to allow for the existence of life. If the constants were different, it would prevent life from forming or surviving.

For example, if the strength of gravity were too weak, then matter would not clump together to form stars. On the other hand, if it were too strong, then every star—including our sun—would swiftly become a black hole. Under either scenario, we wouldn’t be here.

Physicists tell us that not only gravity but multiple other constants in our universe have just the right value to enable life to exist. If any of these constants had a slightly higher or lower value, life would be impossible.

The odds of having all the constants come up with just the right values for life is fantastically low, and that creates the appearance that the universe was intelligently designed—that the constants were set by an intelligent designer. It’s thus possible to make an argument for the existence of God based on the design we see in the constants that physicists have discovered.

How could skeptics try to get around that?

A parallel from biology

For a long time, many people argued for God’s existence based on the apparent design we see in the life forms around us. Animals and plants seem designed to live in the environments that they inhabit, and their body parts seem tailored to do just what the animal needs to do in order to survive.

This was noted by Charles Darwin in his study of the finches that live in the Galapagos Islands. On the islands where the finches had one kind of food source, their beaks would be shaped one way to enable them to get at that food. Where the available food was different, the beaks would be also. It was as if the beaks of individual species were tailored to the kind of food they had available.

Some might have looked at this and argued that God miraculously intervened in nature to design the finches’ beaks in this way. But Darwin proposed something else. He suggested that there were impersonal processes in nature that produced the appearance of design without miraculous intervention by a designer.

Over time, Darwin’s proposal came to be widely accepted. Darwin did not disprove the existence of God. Neither did he prove that God never intervenes miraculously in the world. But it is now widely held, even by churchmen, that much of the apparent design we see in life forms can be explained through evolution rather than direct intervention.

Those in the Intelligent Design movement still argue that there are examples of intelligent design in the life forms we see around us, but the argument has to be made in a more sophisticated way than it used to be.

For skeptics this raises a possibility: If Darwin’s ideas about evolution could explain the apparent design of life forms, could something similar explain the apparent design of our universe?

Enter the multiverse

Darwin’s views on evolution included the idea that the world was much older than was commonly believed and that this ancientness allowed a great deal of random mutation to take place.

Some of those mutations were advantageous to survival, and so the life forms that had them lived to reproduce. By this means, over vast stretches of time, you could get animals that looked like they had been finely tuned to their environment.

Advocates of the multiverse often make a parallel claim: Suppose there is a vast, perhaps even infinite, number of other universes. And in all of them the constants are set differently—at random. If so, then even though most universes would be barren and lifeless, in a few of them the constants would randomly come up just right for life to exist. By chance, they say, we happen to live in such a universe.

On this view, the design of our universe is only apparent, not real, and there is no need for a designer.

Physicists Stephen Hawking and Leonard Mlodinow made precisely this claim, including the parallel to Darwinian evolution, in their 2010 book, The Grand Design: “Just as Darwin and Wallace explained how the apparently miraculous design of living forms could appear without intervention by a supreme being, the multiverse concept can explain the fine-tuning of physical law without the need for a benevolent creator who made the universe for our benefit” (ch. 7).

A cop-out?

Is this line of reasoning legitimate? Or are advocates of the multiverse simply proposing it as a way of avoiding the implications of a designed universe?

Physicist Lawrence Krauss has an interesting take on the issue. In his 2012 book A Universe from Nothing, he writes:

In discussions with those who feel the need for a creator, the existence of a multiverse is viewed as a cop-out conceived by physicists who have run out of answers—or perhaps questions. This may eventually be the case, but it is not so now. Almost every logical possibility we can imagine regarding extending laws of physics as we know them, on small scales, into a more complete theory, suggests that, on large scales, our universe is not unique (ch. 8).

In other words, Krauss is prepared to admit that proposing the multiverse could be a cop-out eventually, but he argues that it isn’t at present. Instead, he thinks that—for now—there are good reasons to think there is a multiverse; but he’s prepared to admit if these don’t pan out that some physicists might hang onto the multiverse idea as a way to avoid dealing with the question of a Creator.

He deserves credit for that admission, but is he right that we currently have good reasons to believe in a multiverse?

Reasons of caution

As a non-physicist, I’m not in a position to evaluate the arguments Krauss has in mind, so I’m not even going to try.

If there is a multiverse, fine. If there’s not, fine. Either way, it does not affect God’s existence (for reasons we will see). As an observer of the physics scene, though, it is clear that there are reasons for caution.

First, there is a crisis in physics at the moment. Many freely talk about it.

“What really keeps me awake at night,” physicist Steve Giddings says, “is that we face a crisis within the deepest foundations of physics. The only way out seems to involve profound revision of fundamental physical principles” (“Crisis at the Foundations of Physics,” edge.org).

A period in which that kind of reevaluation is going on is not the time to be particularly confident about the existence of vast numbers of unseen universes.

Second, many of the advocates of the multiverse—including Krauss, Hawking, and Mlodinow—adhere to a particular view in physics known as string theory. We don’t need to let the details of this theory detain us, but one particular fact is relevant: String theory makes very few testable predictions.

Since testing the predictions of a theory is how science moves forward, critics of string theory warn that their colleagues risk building a house of cards, constructing an elaborate theory that can’t be confirmed by experiment and thus may well be false.

Third, non-string theorists often seem cool to the idea of a multiverse. In the introduction to his 2013 book Time Reborn: From the Crisis in Physics to the Future of the Universe, Lee Smolin—a physicist and a prominent critic of string theory—writes:

The notion that our universe is part of a vast or infinite multiverse is popular—and understandably so, because it is based on a methodological error that is easy to fall into. Our current theories can work at the level of the universe only if our universe is a subsystem of a larger system. So we invent a fictional environment and fill it with other universes. This cannot lead to any real scientific progress, because we cannot confirm or falsify any hypothesis about universes causally disconnected from our own.

There are thus reasons to be cautious about the idea of the multiverse, for we have no proof of it, and the arguments that suggest it are dependent on particular theories—in a time of scientific crisis.

Science of the gaps

Skeptics sometimes accuse Christians of holding a simplistic “God of the gaps” view.

What they mean by this is that Christians are too quick to attribute anything science doesn’t understand to God. (“Why does this finch have a beak shaped like this? God did it.”) In other words, believers propose God to explain the gaps in our scientific knowledge.

One application of this, they might argue, is proposing God as the one who set the constants of our universe so that life could exist. Perhaps there is no designer, they could say. Instead, perhaps there is an infinite number of universes with random constants.

But there is a countercharge that can be made: By proposing an infinite number of universes with random constants, skeptics are taking a simplistic “science of the gaps” view. Instead of taking the evidence of design seriously, they are proposing a vast number of unobservable universes that we have no proof exist.

Unless they can swiftly back up the claim scientifically, they are vulnerable to the “cop-out” charge Lawrence Krauss discussed.

But even if scientists could prove that there are other universes out there—even a vast number of them—would that get around the apparent design of our universe?

More of the same

Suppose that there are other universes, but suppose that they all have exactly the same laws and constants that ours does.

In that case, we’d be presented with an even more impressive appearance of design. Not only would our universe appear to be designed for life—all the other universes would appear to be as well!

So it isn’t just more universes that would be needed to avoid the appearance of design. The random changing of physical constants is needed as well, the same way random mutation is needed to explain the appearance of design in living organisms.

Skeptics would thus need to prove two things: (1) the existence of a large number of other universes and (2) that the constants in those universes are randomly shuffled.

Supposed they proved this. Suppose that they provided a natural explanation for the apparent design of our universe. That would only raise another question.

Who built the cosmic slot machine?

Even if there were a huge number of universes whose constants were set randomly—by the spinning reels of some cosmic slot machine—that would still leave the question: Why?

Why are there all these universes? Why are their constants set randomly? What’s causing that to happen?

Physicist Paul Davies acknowledges the problem when he points out that that the higher-level laws that would be needed to make a multiverse operate would “themselves remain unexplained—eternal, immutable transcendent entities that just happen to exist and must simply be accepted as given. In that respect the meta-laws have a similar status to an unexplained transcendent god” (“Stephen Hawking’s Big Bang Gaps,” The Guardian, Sept. 3, 2010).

If there were higher-level laws causing a vast number of universes with randomly set constants, we’d still need to ask why those laws are there.

In other words: Who built the cosmic slot machine?

The multiverse argument does not do away with the need for God any more than the phenomenon of biological evolution. If it ends up being true, this would merely push the question of God back one step.

Or—to put it another way—it would merely shed light on one of the steps between us and God, on a new aspect of God’s creation.

But, fundamentally, there still needs to be a sufficient reason for everything that exists and everything that happens.

“It’s just random” will not do.

Randomness is only the appearance of non-design. We say something is random when we can’t explain why a particular case turned out the way it did, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason.

To say “It’s just random” and leave it at that is to give up on finding the reason for something. It’s to look at the gaps in our knowledge and stop asking why particular things are the way they are.

That’s not what science is about. Nor philosophy. Nor theology.

And so, even on the idea we are living in a vast sea of universes, we can’t escape the question of God.

Did Jesus Have a Miraculous Birth?

You might think that the question we are asking has an obvious answer, since Jesus was conceived without a human father. That, of itself, makes his birth miraculous, doesn’t it?

It does, but we are actually asking something different: Did the process of the birth itself—presumably nine months after conception—involve a miracle?

The New Testament does not address this question, but, as we will see, it has been discussed from surprisingly early times.

Basically, two types of miracles (and usually both) have been proposed in connection with Jesus’ birth:

  1. Mary did not experience labor pains.
  2. Jesus did not pass through Mary’s birth canal. Instead, he passed from her womb the way he passed through the walls of his sealed tomb.

On what basis have these been proposed?

 

An Argument from Genesis

One basis for Mary being free from labor pains has been seen in Genesis 3:16, where God tells Eve—and, by extension, future women:

I will greatly multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children.

The argument is that, since Mary was immaculately conceived, she was not under this curse and thus would not experience labor pains.

The argument has some weight, but the biblical text does not require that Eve would have experienced no pains at all. God says that he will “greatly multiply” (Heb., harbeh arbeh) her pains, which could suggest that there would have been pain even in an unfallen state.

Some theologians have proposed that an unfallen Adam and Eve would have experienced no pain, but this is a matter of theological speculation. (In Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma, Ludwig Ott lists the view as sententia communis or “common opinion,” p. 104.)

What Scripture indicates entered the world for the first time upon the fall was human death (cf. Gen. 2:17), not any and all pain (note also Jesus’ sufferings in an unfallen state).

 

An Argument from Revelation

At the other end of the Bible, in Revelation 12:1-2, John sees a great sign in heaven:

And a great portent appeared in heaven, a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars; she was with child and she cried out in her pangs of birth, in anguish for delivery.

This symbol, in part, refers to the Virgin Mary, for the woman gives birth to “a male child, one who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron” (Rev. 12.5)—that is, she gives birth to Jesus.

Since she is explicitly stated to have labor pains, some have proposed that the Virgin Mary did experience labor pains in giving birth to Jesus.

While this is a natural interpretation of the text, it also is not certain.

First, Mary experienced post-birth sufferings in connection with being the mother of Jesus (Luke 2:34-35), most notably when she saw her Son hanging on a cross (John 19:25-27). Given the prominent role of symbolism in Revelation, it could be that Mary’s post-birth sufferings as the mother of the Messiah are here depicted rather than literal labor pains.

Second, while the image of the woman in Revelation 12 does point to the Virgin Mary, it also points to other things, like other symbols in Revelation (cf. Rev. 17:9-10). Thus the symbol also points to Israel and the Church.

The birth pains, therefore, might not apply to Mary but to one of these other referents, such as the pains that Israel endured as part of its national experience when the Messiah appeared (think: Roman oppression).

 

A Physiological Argument

One also can propose a physiological argument for an absence of birth pains: If Jesus didn’t pass through Mary’s birth canal then there would be no need for her to experience labor pains.

The cause of labor pains are the forceful contractions that are intended to push the child through the birth canal, so if Jesus didn’t go through the latter then there would be no need for contractions and thus no need for labor pains.

This argument also has weight, but it depends on the timing of Jesus’ departure from the womb. If it happened early enough, then there would be no labor pains. However, if it happened late enough then such pains would have resulted.

The physiological argument brings us to the second miracle that has been proposed in connection with Christ’s birth—his exiting Mary’s womb without going through the birth canal—so what is the evidence for that?

 

Virginity In Partu

Church teaching holds that Mary was a perpetual virgin, meaning that she was a virgin before, during, and after Jesus’ birth.

The fact she was a virgin in the act of giving birth is referred to as her virginity in partu (Latin, “in bearing,” “in giving birth”).

Thus the Second Vatican Council taught that “at the birth of our Lord,” Jesus “did not diminish his mother’s virginal integrity but sanctified it” (Lumen Gentium 57).

Historically, this has been understood as meaning that Jesus did not injure Mary’s hymen, the presence of which was taken in biblical times as proof of virginity (cf. Deut. 22:13-17), though this is not a medically sure test for reasons we will not discuss.

On the assumption that Jesus did not injure Mary’s hymen, would this show that he did not pass through her birth canal?

It could mean that, and that has certainly been the common historic understanding, but God is omnipotent, and if he can miraculously take Jesus out of the womb altogether, he also could miraculously preserve Mary’s hymen through a vaginal birth.

 

What Does Church Teaching Require?

In his book Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma, German theologian Ludwig Ott proposes that the teaching that “Mary bore her Son without any violation of her virginal integrity” is defined as a matter of faith “on the ground of the general promulgation of doctrine” (p. 205).

In other words, he argues that it is a dogma (something that has been infallibly defined as a matter of divine revelation) by the ordinary and universal magisterium rather than by a decree of a pope or council. However, he then states:

The dogma merely asserts the fact of the continuance of Mary’s physical virginity without determining more closely how this is to be physiologically explained. In general, the Fathers and the Schoolmen conceived it as non-injury to the hymen, and accordingly taught that Mary gave birth in miraculous fashion without opening of the womb and injury to the hymen, and consequently also without pains (cf. S. Th. III 28, 2).

However, according to modern natural scientific knowledge, the purely physical side of virginity consists in the non-fulfilment of the sex act (“sex-act virginity”) and in the non-contact of the female egg by the male seed (“seed-act virginity”) (A. Mitterer). Thus, injury to the hymen in birth does not destroy virginity, while, on the other hand, its rupture seems to belong to complete natural motherhood. It follows from this that from the concept of virginity alone the miraculous character of the process of birth cannot be inferred, if it cannot be, and must not be derived from other facts of revelation. Holy Writ attests Mary’s active role in the act of birth (Matt. 1:25; Luke 2:7: “She brought forth”) which does not seem to indicate a miraculous process.

But the Fathers, with few exceptions, vouch for the miraculous character of the birth.

From this one might conclude that, although Jesus was miraculously conceived, he didn’t experience a miraculous birth—either in terms of Mary not having labor pains or in terms of not passing through her birth canal.

On that view, the Fathers who advocated a miraculous birth simply made a mistaken inference based on how virginity was understood in their time. Mary remained a perpetual virgin even if Jesus had a totally normal birth.

However, before adopting such a conclusion, one should be aware that this isn’t an idea that only arose in later centuries. It’s early.

Amazingly early.

 

The Protoevangelium of James

For example, a document known as the Protoevangelium of James (also called the Infancy Gospel of James) attests to Christ’s miraculous birth. It was probably written in the mid-second century (c. 150).

According to the Protoevangelium, when the holy family was on the way to Bethlehem, the following happened:

And they came into the middle of the road, and Mary said to him: Take me down from off the ass, for that which is in me presses to come forth (ch. 17).

This would suggest that Mary experienced at least some discomfort, though not necessarily the sharp pains of labor. The miracle itself occurs afterward, and it occurs in two parts.

First, after finding a place for Mary in a cave in Bethlehem and making sure she is taken care of, Joseph goes in search of a midwife. While doing so, he sees an amazing vision in which time seems to stop for a moment (ch. 18). However, this is something that accompanies the birth and does not directly pertain to the birth itself.

Second, upon finding a midwife, Joseph takes her back to the cave and the following occurs:

And they stood in the place of the cave, and behold a luminous cloud overshadowed the cave. And the midwife said: “My soul has been magnified this day, because my eyes have seen strange things—because salvation has been brought forth to Israel.”

And immediately the cloud disappeared out of the cave, and a great light shone in the cave, so that the eyes could not bear it. And in a little that light gradually decreased, until the infant appeared, and went and took the breast from his mother Mary (ch. 19).

This does not directly say that Jesus didn’t pass through Mary’s birth canal, but it suggests that since the great light fades and the baby Jesus seems to appear without a normal birth.

 

The Odes of Solomon

An earlier and more explicit reference to a miraculous birth is found in the Odes of Solomon, which is a collection of 42 early Christian hymns that were written in the second half of the first century—perhaps fifty years after the Crucifixion. According to the Odes:

So the Virgin became a mother
With great mercies.

And she labored and bore the Son but without pain,
Because it did not occur without purpose.

And she did not seek a midwife,
Because he allowed her to give life.

She bore with desire as a strong man.
And she bore according to the manifestation;
And she possessed with great power (Odes of Solomon 19:7-10).

The translation of this passage is difficult, and scholars have rendered portions of it differently. For example, some have taken the statement that Mary bore Jesus “with desire as a strong man” to mean that she gave birth as a deliberate act of will and that the birth did not come upon her suddenly, with her playing a passive role like a normal woman experiencing the onset of labor.

However that may be, what is not in doubt is that the passage says that Mary “bore the Son without pain.”

We thus have first-century testimony to a painless birth.

 

The Ascension of Isaiah

Another first century document that records a miraculous birth is the Ascension of Isaiah. Based on clues it gives, this work appears to have been composed in A.D. 67.

According to it, the birth of Jesus took place two months after Joseph received Mary into his home:

It came to pass that when they were alone that Mary straight-way looked with her eyes and saw a small babe, and she was astonished.

And after she had been astonished, her womb was found as formerly before she had conceived. . . .

And the story regarding the infant was noised broad in Bethlehem.

Some said: “The Virgin Mary hath borne a child, before she was married two months.”

And many said: “She has not borne a child, nor has a midwife gone up (to her), nor have we heard the cries of (labor) pains” (Ascension of Isaiah 11:7-14).

Here Jesus suddenly appears, without passing through the birth canal, and Mary’s womb is found as it was before, which presumably means that she was no longer large with child (though it also could mean an examination of her hymen was carried out; see Protoevangelium of James 20).

We also have an explicit statement that she did not experience labor pains.

The author of this document appears not to be aware of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. This is not surprising since, by my estimate, Luke was written only eight years earlier and Matthew was written even more recently.

In any event, the author seems to be reporting traditions that were circulating about Jesus’ birth just 34 years after the Crucifixion, which is very early indeed.

 

Conclusion

The late Cardinal Avery Dulles pointed out that there is flexibility in Church teaching regarding the precise way in which Jesus was born an in which Mary’s virginity in giving birth is to be understood:

The Church, Cardinal Dulles said, “has not committed itself to any particular physical theory” of virginity in partu, and therefore the possibility that Mary “could have suffered some pains in birth” may be “compatible with Catholic doctrine.” The cardinal also pointed out that further doctrinal development and magisterial teaching could clarify the question one way or the other (source).

However, before we use that flexibility to adopt the view of Jesus’ birth that is easier from a modern perspective (i.e., a non-miraculous interpretation), we need to bear in mind that we are already standing in the presence of a miracle (a virginal conception!) and we have amazingly early testimony regarding a miraculous birth.

While the details of the three documents differ, they all attest to something extraordinary happening at Jesus’ birth, and in A.D. 67 the Ascension of Isaiah refers both to a lack of birth pains and to Jesus not passing through the birth canal!

Does Paul Say That God Punished Jesus?

Recently we looked at a view of the atonement which holds that God literally punished Jesus on the cross—that the Father “poured out his wrath” on Christ as he hung on the cross.

This view is known as penal substitution, and its advocates claim that it is taught in the Bible.

For example, they claim it is taught in Isaiah 53 and its discussion of the Suffering Servant.

However, when we looked at this passage, we found that it isn’t a good basis for penal substitution.

Now let’s look at three texts from St. Paul which are often used as proofs for the view.

 

God “Made Him To Be Sin”

The first passage is 2 Corinthians 5:21. Here, after exhorting his readers to be reconciled to God, Paul writes:

(21) For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God

The first thing to be said about this passage is that it’s among the most difficult things Paul says to understand, and hard verses make bad prooftexts. If exactly what a verse means isn’t clear, you can’t use it to prove a technical point.

There are also a number of specific problems with using it to prove penal substitution:

  1. The verse doesn’t mention anything about punishment. There isn’t a reference to anger, wrath, or condemnation. You have to presuppose that Paul is thinking about God being angry with Jesus and punishing him for our sin (i.e., you have to read into it what you’re trying to prove).
  2. The verse doesn’t mention Jesus’s death on the cross. While it’s possible that Paul is thinking of his death, he doesn’t refer to it, and some scholars have thought that he’s thinking of the Incarnation as the moment that Christ was “made sin,” for he elsewhere refers to God “sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh” (Rom. 8:3).
  3. The verse says that God “made” Jesus “sin.” If you understand “sin” in its normal sense then the verse is a poetic expression of some kind. Jesus is a Person, and he did not literally become sin (an abstract concept). Similarly, we do not literally become “the righteousness of God” (another abstract concept).
  4. Many scholars have proposed that Paul means God made Jesus “a sin offering.” This is because the Greek word for “sin” (hamartia) is used as a translation of the Hebrew word khatta’t, which means both “sin” and “sin offering.” Thus the Greek Septuagint frequently uses hamartia to mean “sin offering” (Exod. 29:14, 36, Lev. 4:20, 21, 24-25, 32-34, 5:6, 7-9, 11, 6:17, 25, 30, 37, 7:27, 8:2, 14, 9:2-3, 7-8, 10, 15, 22, etc.).

Because of these ambiguities, this passage cannot be used to prove penal substitution. You can assume it and read it into the text, but you can’t prove it from the text.

 

God “Condemned Sin in the Flesh”

In Romans 8:1-4, we read:

(1) There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

(2) For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set me free from the law of sin and death.

(3) For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, (4) in order that the just requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.

The key part of this is the statement that God “condemned sin in the flesh,” which advocates of penal substitution hold to be a reference to God punishing Jesus on the Cross.

This passage also has a poetic feel to it, and it certainly includes non-literal elements. Physical flesh (Greek, sarx) did not literally weaken the Law of Moses, or any other law. Laws belong to a fundamentally different and abstract category than physical flesh, which has no ability to literally weaken them.

Neither, with respect to the phrase “sinful flesh,” is physical flesh literally sinful. Sinfulness is a quality that persons have, not a quality of meat.

Similarly, there is a metaphor involved in saying that Christians “walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.” (Actually, we do walk using our leg muscles.)

These non-literal elements become clearer when one realizes that Paul uses the term “flesh” metaphorically as a reference to fallen human nature, though scholars have found it difficult to determine the precise nuances with which he uses it.

As before, it’s difficult to use a text incorporating ambiguous, poetic elements to establish a technical point, and this is especially true when the key, ambiguous and poetic element is part of the crucial phrase: God “condemned sin in the flesh.”

That could mean any number of things. Just what “flesh” is being referred to? Christ’s physical flesh (i.e., his physical body)? The physical flesh of mankind in general? Fallen human nature as the abstract concept in which sin is depicted as residing?

The first is what advocates of penal substitution need Paul to be saying, but given the way he uses the term flesh, the last is more likely what he means: That is, God condemned the sin that is part of human nature.

Then we need to deal with the meaning of “condemned” (Greek, katakrinô). Advocates of penal substitution need this to mean “punished,” but that’s not what the term means.

As the standard reference work A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (3rd ed.) by Bauer, Danker, Arndt, and Gingrich notes, the basic meaning of katakrinô is “pronounce a sentence after determination of guilt.”

This could mean a number of things, but it need mean no more than God issued a legal finding that sin is wrong/a bad thing/abhorrent/something to be rejected—and even that appears to be as a legal metaphor since we don’t literally have a courtroom setting.

This is seen, with particular clarity, when we consider the time that Paul points to when he says God issued this finding. He says God did it “by sending his Son in the likeness of sinful flesh.” Although he also says God did this “for sin” (peri harmartias; i.e., concerning sin or with reference to sin), the point at which God sent his son was the Incarnation, not the Cross.

Thus what advocates of penal substitution need this passage to say is “God punished Jesus in his physical body on the Cross,” but it doesn’t say that.

Given the known meanings of the terms, the key part of the passage more probably means: By sending his Son in the likeness of sinful humanity at the Incarnation, in order to deal with sin, God expressed disapproval of the sin that is part of fallen human nature.

This passage thus also is not a successful prooftext for penal substitution.

 

Jesus and “the Curse of the Law”

Finally, in Galatians 3:13-14, we read:

(13) Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who hangs on a tree”—(14) that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come upon the Gentiles, that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith.

“The Law” that Paul refers to is the Law of Moses, as illustrated by the quotation he gives. It is from a passage in Deuteronomy that deals with how the Israelites were to treat the bodies of men after execution for their crimes:

(22) And if a man has committed a crime punishable by death and he is put to death, and you hang him on a tree, (23) his body shall not remain all night upon the tree, but you shall bury him the same day, for a hanged man is accursed by God; you shall not defile your land which the Lord your God gives you for an inheritance (Deut. 21:22-23).

According to this translation, “a hanged man is accursed by God,” and consequently “his body shall not remain all night upon the tree” because otherwise this would “defile your land which the Lord your God gives you for an inheritance.”

It is not clear why letting the body remain on the tree overnight, as opposed to a shorter time, would defile the land. Perhaps the thought is that any hanging of a man on a tree defiles the land, but leaving the body for a longer time does so in a more egregious way.

Alternately, the defilement may come not by the hanging of the body but in the denial of proper burial, which according to Jewish custom was done on the same day. Some have thus translated the phrase for “accursed by God” (quillat elôhim) as “an insult to God,” “a repudiation of God,” or “an affront to God” (so the Jewish Publication Society’s Tanak Version). As the Jewish Publication Society notes:

The present translation reflects a rabbinic explanation that the criminal’s body may not be maltreated since that would be an offense against God in whose image even the criminal was created (JPS Torah Commentary: Deuteronomy, at 21:23).

Also, it should be noted that, unlike the case of Jesus, hanging on the “tree” (the Hebrew word can mean just a wooden stake or structure) was not the method of execution. Crucifixion was not practiced in ancient Israel. The text presupposes that execution has been carried out by the normal means—stoning or the sword—and what is envisioned is a display of the body after death for purposes of deterrence or posthumous humiliation.

With this as background, how does Paul apply the passage to Jesus’ situation? Several points should be made:

  1. The passage is not an exact fit for what happened to Jesus since in his case the method of execution was crucifixion; his body was not simply displayed after he was executed by other means.
  2. Paul adapts the quotation to avoid saying that God cursed Jesus. In the Septuagint, the passage says “all who hang on a tree are cursed from God” (Lexham English Septuagint), but Paul conspicuously removes the reference to God, apparently precisely to avoid saying that God cursed Jesus.
  3. Instead, Paul identifies the source of the curse as the Law of Moses. He says that Jesus redeemed us from “the curse of the Law” so that “the blessing of Abraham might come upon the Gentiles.” He then goes on in the following verses to describe the Law as an inferior and only partial expression of God’s will: “This is what I mean: the law, which came four hundred and thirty years afterward, does not annul a covenant previously ratified by God, so as to make the promise void. . . . It was ordained by angels through an intermediary. Now an intermediary implies more than one; but God is one” (Gal. 3:17-20).
  4. The passage in Deuteronomy is a minor piece of legislation that does not sum up or serve as a capstone to the Mosaic Law. It is an obscure passage that has been employed here because it mentions a curse and has a partial similarity to the situation of Christ’s death. It thus represents an accommodated application rather than a direct one of the kind needed to make a key point about the nature of the atonement.

What advocates of penal substitution need Galatians 3:13 to say is that God cursed Jesus—and even that might not be enough, because to curse someone could merely mean passing a negative legal sentence rather than actively punishing. Yet Paul conspicuously avoids saying this and instead identifies the Law as the source of the curse.

In view of the discontinuity between Jesus’ situation and the one envisioned in Deuteronomy, Paul’s avoidance of the needed statement, and the general ambiguity of the passage, it is not a solid basis for the claim that God literally punished Jesus.

We thus see that none of the three passages we have considered provide proof of penal substitution, which is already very problematic on other grounds.

Was Jesus Born December 25th?

Every year as Christmas approaches, it’s common to hear claims like these:

  • Jesus wasn’t born on December 25.
  • He couldn’t have been, because the shepherds wouldn’t have had their flocks in the field (Luke 2:8).
  • Christians got December 25 from a pagan holiday.

On the other hand, one sometimes encounters these claims:

  • Jesus was definitely born on December 25.
  • The Catholic Church claims that he was.
  • The denial of this is an attack on Christianity.
  • The early Christians would have been intensely interested in the day of Jesus’ birth and would have recorded it based on Mary’s memory of the day.

Let’s look at both sets of claims, though first let’s look at the year he was born.

 

The Year Jesus Was Born

A common—though incorrect—view is that he was born around 6-7 B.C. This is based on the idea Herod the Great died in 4 B.C. and Jesus must have been born around two years earlier, since Herod “killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under” (Matt. 2:16).

However, better studies indicate Herod died in 1 B.C. This agrees with the data from the Gospels, which indicate John the Baptist began his ministry “in the fifteenth year of Tiberius Caesar” (Luke 3:1)—i.e., A.D. 29—that Jesus was baptized shortly thereafter (3:21), and that he began his ministry when “about thirty years of age” (3:23).

If you subtract thirty years from A.D. 29 then—since there is no “Year Zero”—you land in 2 B.C.

This agrees with the date given by the Church Fathers, who overwhelmingly place the birth of Jesus in the forty-second year of Augustus Caesar or 3/2 B.C. (i.e., the last part of 3 B.C. and the first part of 2 B.C.).

For more information on Jesus birth, see Jack Finegan, Handbook of Biblical Chronology, 2nd ed., and Andrew Steinmann, From Abraham to Paul.

Now, on to the claims regarding the day of Jesus’ birth. . . .

 

“Keeping Watch Over their Flock”

Luke says shepherds were out at night with their flock, but this doesn’t eliminate December 25—or any other winter date.

Ancient Jews didn’t have large indoor spaces for housing sheep. Flocks were kept outdoors during winter in Judaea, as they are elsewhere in the world today, including in places where snow is common.

Search the internet for “winter sheep care” and you’ll find pages by modern sheep owners explaining it’s perfectly fine to keep flocks outside in winter. Sheep are adapted to life outdoors. That’s why they have wool, which keeps body heat in and moisture out.

Sheep are kept outdoors in Israel during winter even today:

William Hendricksen quotes a letter dated Jan. 16, 1967, received from the New Testament scholar Harry Mulder, then teaching in Beirut, in which the latter tells of being in Shepherd Field at Bethlehem on the just-passed Christmas Eve, and says: “Right near us a few flocks of sheep were nestled. Even the lambs were not lacking. . . . It is therefore definitely not impossible that the Lord Jesus was born in December” (Jack Finegan, Handbook of Biblical Chronology, 2nd ed.§569).

 

The Pagan Holiday Claim

Might Christians have decided to celebrate Jesus’ birthday on December 25 to create an alternative to a popular pagan celebration?

Some Christians do this sort of thing today. Because of the macabre overtones Halloween has in our culture, some Protestant churches hold “Harvest Festival” or “Reformation Day” celebrations on October 31 to give young people an alternative, so it’s not impossible early Christians might have done the same thing.

But there is a poor track record for claims Christian holidays have pagan origins. For example, the claim Easter has a pagan origin is based on a sketchy etymology for the English word Easter, which is allegedly based on the name of a Germanic goddess we otherwise have no record of.

Further, Easter didn’t start in England. It’s celebrated all over the Christian world, and in most languages its name derives from Pesakh—the Hebrew word for Passover—because Jesus was crucified at Passover. Thus, whatever it’s called in individual countries, has Jewish origins.

To sustain the claim Christmas is based on a pagan holiday, one would need to do two things: (1) Identify the pagan holiday it supplanted, and (2) show this was the intent of the Christians who introduced Christmas on December 25.

Some have claimed Christmas is based on the Roman holiday Saturnalia—a festival of the god Saturn. However, this holiday was celebrated on December 17, and though it was later expanded to include the days leading up to December 23, it was over before December 25. A Christian celebration on the latter day would not supplant Saturnalia.

A better candidate is Sol Invictus (Latin, “the Unconquerable Sun”), which was celebrated on December 25. However, the earliest record we have that may point to it being celebrated on that day is late and ambiguous.

The Christian Chronography of A.D. 354 records the “Birthday of the Unconquerable” was celebrated on that date in 354, but the identity of “the Unconquerable” is unclear. Since it’s a Christian document that elsewhere lists Jesus’ birthday as December 25, it could be the Unconquerable Christ—not the sun—whose birth was celebrated.

Even if Christmas and Sol Invictus were both on December 25, Christmas might have been the basis of Sol Invictus, or the reverse, or it might just be a coincidence. If you want to claim the date of Sol Invictus is the basis for Christmas, you need evidence.

That is hard to come by. Even if the Chronography of A.D. 354 refers to Sol Invictus being celebrated on December 25, this is the first reference to the fact, and—as we will see below—some Christians had held Jesus was born on that date for a long time.

If Christians were subverting Sol Invictus, we should find the Church Fathers saying, “Let’s provide an alternative celebration.” But we don’t. The Fathers who celebrated December 25 sincerely thought that’s when Jesus was born.

And even if Christmas was timed to subvert a pagan holiday, so what? Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, and celebrating the birth of Christ is a good thing. So is subverting paganism. If the early Christians were doing both, big deal!

Ultimately, though, the evidence doesn’t support the claim. Benedict XVI got it right when he said:

The claim used to be made that December 25 developed in opposition to the Mithras myth, or as a Christian response to the cult of the unconquered sun promoted by Roman emperors in the third century in their efforts to establish a new imperial religion. However, these old theories can no longer be sustained (The Spirit of the Liturgy, 107-108).

 

Not a Matter of Doctrine

What about the assertion that the Catholic Church claims Jesus was born on December 25?

This isn’t the case. The Church celebrates Jesus’ birth on December 25, but this doesn’t amount to a claim he was born on that day.

The liturgical commemoration of an event doesn’t mean the Church holds it happened on that day. For example, the day a saint is commemorated is frequently the day of his death, but not always. Thus St. Ambrose’s memorial is on December 7, though he died on April 4.

One will find Church documents referring to the liturgical celebration of Jesus’ birth on December 25, but one won’t find any magisterial documents establishing it as a Church teaching that this is when he was born.

Though his birth has profound significance for our faith, the particular day it occurred is a matter of history rather than doctrine, and Christians needn’t be disturbed by the idea he was born another day.

 

An Attack on the Christianity—and Christ?

Is the claim Jesus was born another day an attack on Christianity?

It’s true that some who make this claim want to disparage or undermine Christianity, but not all have this motive. There are sincere Christians who argue Jesus was born another day. Some have even been taken in by the pagan holiday claim and are seeking to protect Christianity from being tainted by pagan associations.

We might be irked when an atheist says, in a superior manner, “You know, Jesus wasn’t really born on December 25,” but his motives are ultimately irrelevant. The claim he’s making is either true or false, and speculating about what’s going on in his heart will generate more heat than light.

What’s important is the evidence and where it leads us.

 

How Could They Not?

Sometimes defenders of December 25 argue the early Christians would have been intensely interested in the day of Jesus’ birth, and so—based on Mary’s memory of the day—they would have recorded it. How could they not have done so?

There are major problems with this argument. Christians have been curious about many things concerning Jesus that we have no reliable record of.

The Gospels are our most reliable records, but the fantastic expense of book production at the time meant the Evangelists could only record the details they considered most important.

Thus the Gospels don’t tell us the day or even the year of his birth. With the exception of the Finding at the Temple (Luke 2:41-51), they don’t tell us what happened during his childhood, and they tell us nothing at all about his appearance.

Later Christians were curious about all of these, but the fact the Evangelists don’t record them reveal that they didn’t consider it essential for us to know about them.

One reason they might not have considered Jesus’ birthday important is because the celebration of birthdays isn’t a human universal. Many cultures have very different attitudes toward time, and in the twentieth century western scholars working with poorer Middle Easterners could be surprised at how they didn’t have a clear idea of how old they were.

Historically, Jewish culture has been ambivalent toward birthdays, with some rabbis arguing they shouldn’t be celebrated at all, stating that doing so is a gentile or even idolatrous custom.

Some pointed to the fact that, in the Hebrew scriptures, the only birthday celebrated was that of the wicked figure Pharaoh (Gen. 40:20).

Other oppressive rulers also celebrated birthdays—sometimes on a monthly basis—and expected their subjects to do so as well. Thus in the time of the Maccabees, “On the monthly celebration of the king’s birthday, the Jews were taken, under bitter constraint, to partake of the sacrifices” (2 Macc. 6:7).

Roman emperors also had public celebrations of their birthdays, which involved idolatry and fueled Jewish antipathy to the custom.

The only birthday celebration in the New Testament was of the Roman puppet Herod Antipas, and that led to the martyrdom of John the Baptist (Matt. 14:1-12).

It’s thus no surprise to find early Christian writers like Origen, around A.D. 241, disparaging birthdays:

Not one from all the saints is found to have celebrated a festive day or a great feast on the day of his birth. No one is found to have had joy on the day of the birth of his son or daughter. Only sinners rejoice over this kind of birthday. For indeed we find in the Old Testament Pharaoh, king of Egypt, celebrating the day of his birth with a festival, and in the New Testament, Herod. However, both of them stained the festival of his birth by shedding human blood. For the Pharaoh killed “the chief baker,” Herod, the holy prophet John “in prison.” But the saints not only do not celebrate a festival on their birth days, but, filled with the Holy Spirit, they curse that day (Homilies on Leviticus 8:2).

Origen wasn’t alone in the early Church, and he illustrates how other cultures could have very different attitudes toward birthdays. The “how could they not preserve Jesus’ birthday?” argument thus does not succeed.

This isn’t to say early Christian sources didn’t preserve Jesus’ birthday, just that it’s not guaranteed they did. We thus need to look at the evidence.

 

A Biblical Argument?

Some argue that, though the New Testament doesn’t tell us what Jesus’ birthday was, it contains enough information for us to deduce it.

The argument goes like this: John the Baptist’s father—Zechariah—belonged to the priestly course of Abijah (Luke 1:5), one of twenty-four priestly courses that served in a regular rotation at the temple.

After his vision announcing the conception of John the Baptist, he returned home, and his wife, Elizabeth, became pregnant (1:23-25). Then “in the sixth month” of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, Gabriel appeared to Mary and announced the conception of Jesus (1:26-31).

Therefore, Jesus’ birth would have occurred fifteen months after Zechariah’s service ended, and if we can determine the date that happened then we can determine the date of Jesus’ birth.

While intriguing, this argument doesn’t allow us to determine the day of Jesus’ birth.

First, the priestly courses served at the temple twice a year, and we’d have to guess which of the two Zechariah was performing when he got the vision. That creates an uncertainty of six months.

Second, scholars aren’t sure when each priestly course was on duty. There are different proposals, and the matter is complicated by the fact some Jewish years had an extra month (much like our Leap Year) to keep the calendar in synch with the seasons.

Third, the argument assumes that John the Baptist was conceived immediately upon Zechariah’s return, but Luke doesn’t say that. He says Elizabeth became pregnant “after these days” (1:24).

Fourth, the argument assumes Gabriel appeared to Mary exactly six months after John’s conception, but that also isn’t what Luke says. He states the angel appeared “in the sixth month” (1:26, 36)—i.e., when Elizabeth was between five and six months pregnant. This creates a thirty-day ambiguity.

Fifth, the argument assumes Mary conceived the moment Gabriel spoke to her, but Luke doesn’t indicate that. Gabriel says “you will conceive” (Greek, sullêmpsê)—in the future tense—indicating Jesus will be conceived in the future, but not precisely when.

Sixth, the argument assumes Jesus was in the womb exactly nine months, but the average human gestation period is around 40 weeks from last ovulation. Given four-week months, that would be around ten months. Thus the book of Wisdom states: “in the womb of a mother I was molded into flesh, within the period of ten months” (Wis. 7:1-2). Further, the average human pregnancy varies by as much as five weeks in length, creating an uncertainty of thirty-five days.

In view of these uncertainties, this argument won’t allow us to determine the exact day of Jesus’ birth.

However, it may get us part of the way there. Based on a guess of which of the two priestly services Zechariah was performing, Jack Finegan calculates that the argument would point to a birthday somewhere between December and February, lending plausibility—based on biblical evidence—to Jesus being born in the winter (Handbook of Biblical Chronology, 2nd ed., §473), though it should be pointed out that making the opposite guess about Zechariah’s service would point to a birth in the summer.

 

The Church Fathers Weigh In

While the New Testament doesn’t name a specific day as the date of Jesus’ birth, some of the Church Fathers do.

Around A.D. 194, Clement of Alexandria stated that “from the Lord’s birth to the death of [the emperor] Commodus comprises 194 years one month and thirteen days” (Miscellanies[Stromateis] 1:21:145:5). Calculating backwards from the assassination of Commodus on December 31, 192, that would put the birth of Christ on November 18, 3 B.C.

Clement also reports there were some who held it occurred on the twenty-fifth of the Egyptian month of Pachon, which would correspond to May 20 of that year (1:21:145:6).

He further reports that some followers of the Gnostic Basilides said that it was on the twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth of the Egyptian month Pharmouthi, which would point to April 19 or 20 (1:21:146:4).

We thus see that, at the end of the second century, a number of different dates for Jesus’ birth were being proposed.

Around 204, St. Hippolytus of Rome wrote that “the first advent of our Lord in the flesh, when he was born in Bethlehem, was eight days before the Kalends of January, the fourth day [i.e., Wednesday], while Augustus was in his forty-second year [i.e., 3/2 B.C.]” (Commentary on Daniel 4:23:3). The Kalends was the first day of the month, and eight days before January 1 is December 25.

This is the earliest record we have of Jesus’ birth being December 25. It precedes by seventy years the time the Emperor Aurelian made Sol Invictus a Roman cult, and it precedes by a hundred and fifty years the earliest claimed reference to Sol Invictus being celebrated on December 25—that claim being based on the Chronography of A.D. 354.

Part 6 of the Chronography lists the following for the eighth day before the Kalends of January: “Birthday of the Unconquerable, games ordered, thirty [horse races].” This may well be a reference to a pagan holiday, but since the calendar was composed after the conversion of Constantine, this isn’t entirely certain.

Part 12 of the Chronolography, which is a calendar of the commemoration of martyrs, lists the following: “Eight days before the Kalends of January: Birth of Christ in Bethlehem of Judea.”

In 386, St. John Chrysostom preached a homily on December 20—the memorial of St. Philogonius—in which he noted that “the day of Christ’s birth in the flesh” is about to arrive in “a period of five days,” or on December 25 (On the Incomprehensible Nature of God 6:23, 30).

Finally, around 408, St. Augustine writes that “according to tradition he [Jesus] was born on December 25” (The Trinity 4:5).

Although the December 25 tradition was becoming well established, it was not the only one in circulation.

Around 375, St. Epiphanius of Salamis offered an extremely precise reckoning of the birth of Christ, stating: “Christ was born in the month of January, that is, on the eighth before the Ides of January—in the Roman calendar this is the evening of January fifth, at the beginning of January sixth” (Panarion 51:24:1). He also noted that a sect known as the Alogoi held the same date (51:29:2-5).

Ultimately, both December 25 and January 6 found places in the Church’s calendar, with the latter being used to commemorate the visit of the Magi and the baptism of Jesus.

 

Conclusion

Where does all this leave us? On the one hand, the arguments against Jesus being born on December 25 don’t work, and the claim the date was chosen to supplant a pagan celebration is unsupportable. Not only do we find Christians supporting December 25 well before the pagan holiday in question, we also don’t find them saying anything like, “Let’s provide an alternative celebration.” The ones who support December 25 sincerely believe that’s when Jesus was born.

On the other hand, the Bible doesn’t give us enough information to determine Jesus’ birthday, and the tradition in the Church Fathers is mixed, with different dates being proposed.

It has been noted that in the ancient world two of the dates—December 25 and January 6—were sometimes reckoned as the date of the winter solstice, the time when days begin to get longer. Further, the Church Fathers discussed Christ’s birth in terms of light coming into the world, based on Malachi’s prophecy: “For you who fear my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings” (4:2).

Therefore, it’s possible that the belief Christ was born on a solstice date was based on this prophecy. Alternately, there may have been a memory that Christ was born in the winter, and the specific date was determined based on the prophecy. Or it may be that Christ simply was born on one of these dates, and its conjunction with ancient reckonings of the solstice was a matter of divine providence.

Whatever the case, Christ was born. The sun of righteousness did rise, and “the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned” (Matt. 4:16; Isa. 9:2).

When Was John Written?

The Gospel of John gets a bad rap among skeptical scholars, and many place less value on it than on Matthew, Mark, and Luke.

One reason is that they date it later than the other Gospels.

But when was it really written?

Let’s look at the evidence . . .

 

Physical Evidence

A couple of centuries ago, it became fashionable in biblical scholarship to assign very late dates to John.

For example, the famed German scholar F. C. Baur (1792-1860) dated it to between A.D. 160 and A.D. 170 (The Church History of the First Three Centuries 1:163-164, 175).

Such dates fell out of favor after more recent discoveries. One of the most important was a document known as “the Rylands Papyrus” (aka P52) which is held in the John Rylands University Library in Manchester, England.

The fragment is small (3.5 by 2.5 inches). One side contains text from John 18:31-33 and the other from John 18:37-38.

This fragment has commonly been dated to the first half of the second century, say around A.D. 125 (though this is disputed).

This pushed the date of John back to the beginning of the second century or to sometime in the first century. According to Raymond Brown, SJ, the Gospel is commonly dated by scholars today sometime between 80 and 110 (An Introduction to the New Testament, 334).

However, this view is not well supported.

 

The Evidence of Revelation?

Sometimes scholars, including conservative ones, date all the Johannine literature (John, 1-3 John, Revelation) to the A.D. 90s, seemingly because they aren’t sure when else to place them and this is a popular date for the book of Revelation.

This is problematic for several reasons:

  • It is based on the idea that the recent persecution referred to in Revelation is one that occurred under the emperor Domitian, but there was no Domitianic persecution.
  • As we will see below, we actually have good reason to date Revelation considerably earlier, in the late 60s.
  • People’s literary careers can span decades, and there is no necessary connection between the time Revelation was written and the time the Gospel was.

Revelation thus does not serve as a good anchor for the writing of John’s Gospel.

 

John’s Advanced Age?

Sometimes a late date for John’s Gospel is advocated because of a remark the Evangelist makes to rebut a rumor that he would not die before the Second Coming (John 21:20-23).

This has been taken to indicate that John must have been at an advanced age and saw his death approaching, motivating him to rebut the rumor before he died, lest it cause consternation among the faithful.

However, this does not require a date in the 80s or 90s. If John were written in the mid 60s (as we will argue below), then he already would have been quite mature, even if he were among the youngest of the disciples.

Witnessing the increasing persecution of Christians and actual or approaching martyrdom of apostles (Acts 12:2, John 21:18-19), he could have felt the need to respond to the rumor by the mid 60s.

 

Situational Arguments

Sometimes scholars argue that John should be assigned a date late in the first century because of the situation it suggests the Church was in. For example:

  • The book has a very high view of Christ’s divinity (John 1:1-5, 14:6, etc.), suggesting a late date.
  • The book refers to people being put out of the synagogues (John 9:22, 12:42, 16:2), suggesting a date after the final break with Judaism, which is often claimed to be around A.D. 85.
  • The book refers to “the Jews” as a separate and frequently hostile group (John 1:19, 2:18, 20, etc.).

Situational arguments like this are quite weak. A given generation can have theological savants in it—like John and Paul—who may sound decades more sophisticated than their contemporaries, and there’s nothing in the substance of John’s Christology that isn’t found in Paul. (This argument also ignores the role of Jesus himself; if Jesus had a high view of his own divinity then we would expect at least some of his disciples—like John—to mention it!)

Similarly, as we’ve noted, persecution in the synagogues was a familiar experience for Jewish Christians all the way through New Testament history. Jesus himself was killed, and there is no reason to think that some of his followers weren’t being ostracized even earlier. Indeed, we would expect them to be!

Finally, we find other books of the New Testament referring to “the Jews” as a distinct and frequently hostile group (Matt. 28:15, Acts 9:22-23, 12:3, 13:45, 2 Cor. 11:24, 1 Thess. 2:14), and these books were written in the mid first century. Acts was written around 60, 2 Corinthians was written in 54 or 55, and 1 Thessalonians was written between 49 and 51!

 

Before the Fall of Jerusalem?

Like the Synoptic Gospels, John does not refer to the fall of Jerusalem or the destruction of the temple in A.D. 70.

However, it is harder to make a case from this that John was written before 70 because—unlike the Synoptics—it does not contain a straightforward prediction of the temple’s destruction.

Jesus does allude to it (John 2:19), as does Caiaphas (John 11:48). But Jesus’ reference is only implicit, and the high priest only makes a conjecture. In neither case does Jesus say that the temple will be destroyed, as he does in the Synoptics.

Without an explicit prophecy of the temple’s destruction, we would not expect a prophetic fulfillment notice, and so the fact that John doesn’t give us one amounts only to a weak argument from silence.

Yet there is a verse which does imply a pre-70 date:

Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Hebrew called Beth-Zatha, which has five porticoes (John 5:2).

The Greek word here for “is” (estin) is present tense, indicating a present state of affairs: John is saying that the pool Beth-Zatha (aka “Bethesda”), with its five porticoes, exists in Jerusalem at the time he is writing.

He would not have made this claim after Jerusalem fell, for as the Jewish historian Josephus reports, the Roman general Titus “ordered the whole city and the temple to be razed to the ground, leaving only the loftiest of the towers, Phasael, Hippicus, and Mariamme, and the portion of the wall enclosing the city on the west” (Jewish War 7:1:1-2).

John 5:2 thus gives us reason to hold that the Gospel was written before the destruction in 70 (see Daniel B. Wallace, “John 5, 2 and the Date of the Fourth Gospel”).

If this is correct, A.D. 70 would serve as the upper boundary for when John was composed.

What about the lower boundary?

 

John and the Other Evangelists

The early Church Fathers commonly regard John as the last of the Gospels to be written.

The work itself does not say this, but its last verse at least hints that several Gospels were written previously:

But there are also many other things which Jesus did; were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written (John 21:25).

This suggests that John was aware of several previous books about Jesus’ deeds, and these likely included one or more of the canonical Gospels.

There is quite good evidence that John knew the Gospel of Mark. In fact, there is evidence that he used Mark as a template around which to organize his own Gospel. I have argued this here. It is also argued by the British scholar Richard Bauckham in his chapter “John for Readers of Mark” in The Gospels for All Christians.

There are also reasons to think that John knew Luke’s Gospel. I have been struck by the way John seems to expand upon events mentioned in Luke, particularly in the latter’s Resurrection Narrative. For example:

  • Luke’s statement, “Peter rose and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; and he went home wondering at what had happened” (Luke 24:12) is expanded upon by John 20:1-10.
  • Luke’s statement, “And while they still disbelieved for joy, and wondered, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate before them” (Luke 24:41-43) is expanded upon by John 21:1-14.
  • Luke exclusively focuses on post-Resurrection events that occurred in or near Jerusalem (Luke 24:1-51), in contrast to Matthew and Mark, who focus on post-Resurrection appearances that occurred in Galilee (Matt. 28:7, 10, 16-20, Mark 16:7; cf. Matt. 26:32, Mark 14:28). By contrast, John indicates that Jesus appeared to the disciples both in Jerusalem and in Galilee (John 20:19-21:23).

It thus seems that there are good reasons to think that John knew Mark, which was composed around A.D. 55, and Luke, which likely was published in A.D. 59.

These dates would put the composition of John between 59 and 70—i.e., in the A.D. 60s.

But there is one Gospel that we still have to consider.

What about Matthew?

 

John and Matthew

While a significant number of scholars have thought that John shows awareness of Mark and Luke, fewer have thought that he shows awareness of Matthew.

The claim that he does has been recently argued by James Barker in his book John’s Use of Matthew.

I am still evaluating the case that John knew Matthew. On independent grounds, I have argued that Matthew was written in the A.D. 60s, say around 65—the same period to which we have dated John.

If Matthew was written in this period, and if it had come into John’s hands, then he may have had little time to assimilate it, resulting in the lesser impact it had on his Gospel compared to Mark and Luke.

At present, I don’t have a judgment on whether Matthew was written first or whether John was. So far, we can only say that it looks like both were written sometime in the 60s.

 

The Book of Revelation Redivivus

The dating of the book of Revelation now returns to affect the dating of John’s Gospel. As I mentioned before, we have evidence that Revelation was written considerably before the date it is often assigned in the 90s.

Specifically, it appears to have been written shortly before the fall of the temple in A.D. 70, during the brief reign of the Emperor Galba (the one emperor who “is,” after the five who have fallen; cf. Revelation 17:10). Galba reigned from June 8 of A.D. 68 to January 15 of A.D. 69.

We also know that Revelation was written when John was in exile on Patmos (Rev. 1:9). This is likely responsible for the difference in the Greek styles of Revelation and the Gospel of John.

While in exile, John may not have had access to the kind of editorial help he may have employed when writing the Gospel (i.e., he may not have had access to a good amanuensis to polish his Greek).

Unfortunately, we do not know much about when John’s exile to Patmos began or ended. However, it is likely both that he was in exile before Galba’s brief reign began and that he remained in it through 69, the chaotic “Year of Four Emperors.”

He thus was likely in exile during at least the last two years of the 60s, meaning the Gospel would have been written in the early or mid 60s.

 

Peter’s Martyrdom

There is one additional factor that may help us date the Gospel. Toward its end, Jesus tells Peter:

Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you girded yourself and walked where you would; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will gird you and carry you where you do not wish to go (John 21:18).

John then adds:

This he said to show by what death he [Peter] was to glorify God (John 21:19).

This is commonly understood to mean that John’s Gospel was written after Peter’s martyrdom and that John was looking back on the event.

In a currently unpublished study, I have dated the martyrdom of Peter to the mid 60s. It likely took place in mid 65 or mid 66. If so, then the Gospel would have been written in a very short time frame, say in 66 or 67.

However, there is reason to question the premise on which this argument is based.

Most English translations of John 21:19, including the RSV (quoted above), make it sound like Peter’s martyrdom is a past event. They speak of the death by which “he was to glorify God.”

But the Greek text actually has the future tense at this point. The relevant verb is doksasei (“he will/shall glorify”). Some of the most literal translations thus render the passage along these lines:

And this he said, signifying by what death he shall glorify God (John 21:19, Young’s Literal Translation).

I’m uncertain why most translations render the passage the way they do. It may simply be due to the prevalent view among translators that John was written after Peter’s death. However, the Greek verb is future tense.

If the more literal translation is correct, it would appear that Peter’s martyrdom is still in the future at the point that John is writing—or at least that it occurred so recently that John has not yet received word of the martyrdom.

Word of Peter’s death would have spread quickly in the Christian world, though it would have taken months to make its way around the Mediterranean.

If John was in Ephesus at this time, he likely would have heard within a few weeks. (The ORBIS ancient travel database indicates a minimum travel time of just over 12 days between Rome and Ephesus during the spring and summer months, when Peter likely was martyred.)

If the literal translation of John 21:19 is correct, the latest possible date for John’s Gospel thus would be within a few weeks of Peter’s martyrdom, which would still leave us in the 65-66 time frame.

 

Conclusion

In view of the above, I estimate that John’s Gospel was written between the publication of Luke in 59 and the martyrdom of Peter in 65-66. For the sake of convenience, I will reckon it as approximately 65.

This would give us the following dates for the publication of the Gospels and Acts:

  • Mark: approximately 55 (info here)
  • Luke: approximately 59 (info here)
  • Acts: approximately 60 (info here)
  • Matthew: approximately 65 (info here, here, here, and here)
  • John: approximately 65

It thus appears that the historical books of the New Testament were written in the span of about a decade.

When Was Matthew Written? (Final Answer!)

It’s more challenging to figure of the date of Matthew’s Gospel than either Mark or Luke, but we’re finally within striking distance of doing so.

In previous posts, we’ve seen that Matthew was written after Mark, which means after about A.D. 55.

We’ve also seen that it was written before A.D. 70.

That gives us a range of about 15 years, but can we narrow it down further?

Let’s look at the evidence . . .

 

Matthew and Luke

We have a good date for the Gospel of Luke, which was written around A.D. 59, so if we can establish Matthew’s relationship to Luke, we could get a more precise date for his Gospel.

We thus need to consider some theories about how the two Gospels are related:

  1. Matthew and Luke were written independently of each other
  2. Luke used Matthew in composing his Gospel, so Matthew came first
  3. Matthew used Luke, so Luke came first

 

The Independence Hypothesis

This is the most common view among scholars today. According to it, Matthew and Luke wrote their Gospels independently, seemingly without displaying any knowledge of each other’s work.

According to this hypothesis, both used Mark’s Gospel, but there also are over two hundred verses that they also share in common, and if they were truly independent of each other, they needed to get this material from some common source.

Scholars have given this source the name “Q,” from the German word Quelle, which just means “source.”

For this view to work, Matthew and Luke would have had to be written at about the same time.

Otherwise, whichever was written first would have had enough time to spread in the Christian community for the other to have read it, and we would expect to see it reflected in some way in the other Gospel.

I estimate that would have taken no more than five years, so let’s assume that if this view is true then Matthew would have been written within about five years of Luke.

That would put it between roughly A.D. 55 and 65.

This is consistent with our previous finding that it was likely written between 55 and 70, but is there a way we can test this hypothesis?

 

Testing the Independence Hypothesis

For the Independence Hypothesis to work, the hypothetical Q source needs to have existed.

The two strongest arguments for the existence of Q are the fact that Matthew and Luke diverge significantly at the beginnings and the ends of their Gospels. That is, Matthew and Luke read very differently in their accounts of Jesus’ birth and childhood (the “Infancy Narratives”) and in their accounts of his resurrection (the “Resurrection Narratives”).

To put the matter concisely: If one knew of the other’s Gospel, why are their Infancy and Resurrection Narratives so different?

I’ve looked at this matter before, and I’ve concluded that there actually are good reasons both for why their Infancy Narratives read differently and why their Resurrection Narratives read differently.

I thus don’t think the key arguments for Q are persuasive. In addition, there are significant arguments against Q:

  1. Q is an entirely hypothetical source. We don’t have independent evidence for its existence, and thus we should only propose it if we have other, solid grounds for thinking neither Matthew nor Luke knew the other.
  2. Q is billed by the scholars who advocate it as a “sayings source” that preserves the sayings of Jesus, but this does not reflect the facts (see also here).
  3. If Q were a distinct source from Mark, we wouldn’t expect to see Matthew and Luke blending the two, and blending them in the same way, but we do. These places are known as “Mark-Q overlap” passages.
  4. If Matthew and Luke used Mark independently of each other, we would expect to see them making minor modifications in the way Mark phrases things, but we wouldn’t expect to see them modifying Mark in exactly the same way. Yet we do. There are numerous instances where Matthew and Luke phrase things in a way that differs from Mark. These are known as the “minor agreements” against Mark.

The problems with the Q Hypothesis are more fully explored by the British scholar Mark Goodacre and his colleagues in the books Questioning Q and The Case Against Q.

 

If Luke Used Matthew

The idea that Luke used Matthew’s Gospel when writing his own is known as the Farrer Hypothesis.

It assumes that both Matthew and Luke used Mark’s Gospel, but it does away with the need for Q because Luke simply took the two-hundred-plus verses that he shares with Matthew directly from the latter’s Gospel.

This does away with the problems of Q’s hypothetical nature, its role as a “sayings source,” the Mark-Q overlaps, and the “minor agreements.”

Presently, the most forceful exponent of the Farrer Hypothesis is Marc Goodacre, who explores it (among other places) in his book The Synoptic Problem: A Way Through the Maze.

Based on the dates we have proposed, the Farrer Hypothesis would place the composition of Matthew’s Gospel in a very small window: between the composition of Mark, around A.D. 55, and Luke, in A.D. 59.

On this view, we could place Matthew confidently around A.D. 57.

But there’s another possibility we need to consider . . .

 

If Matthew Used Luke

The idea that Matthew used Luke’s Gospel when writing his own is known as the Wilke Hypothesis.

It also does away with the problems associated with the Q Hypothesis.

The Wilke Hypothesis has, rather inexplicably, been long neglected by scholars, but is presently receiving some much needed attention, and several books have appeared on the subject, such as Robert MacEwen’s overview Matthean Posteriority. Alan Garrow also has a helpful series of videos on the subject.

Based on the dates we have proposed, the Wilke Hypothesis would place the composition of Matthew’s Gospel in the A.D. 60s, between the publication of Luke in 59 and the destruction of the temple in 70.

So we need to ask a question . . .

 

Which Came First?

The issue of whether Matthew or Luke was written first—like the Synoptic Problem in general—can get very technical, very quickly, and we don’t have space to descend into the details here.

I will therefore look only at a few top level considerations.

The best argument for the idea that Matthew wrote first appears to be the argument from “editorial fatigue.” This is the idea that, in copying Matthew, Luke introduced certain changes but then unconsciously began to slip back into Matthew’s way of describing things, thus showing that Matthew was his source.

Goodacre explores this idea here.

I have evaluated the argument here, and ultimately I do not find it convincing.

By contrast, the basic argument I would make for the idea that Luke wrote first is that Matthew simply appears to be a more developed literary work.

This occurs on multiple levels, from the organization of Jesus’s sayings into Matthew’s five great discourses, to tiny tweaks, such as when Luke’s unqualified “Blessed are you poor” (Luke 6:20) becomes Matthew’s “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matt. 5:3) to bring out the significance of spiritual rather than merely material poverty.

Particularly striking is the fact that sayings of Jesus that are scattered all over the place in Luke are organized into obvious, topical blocks in Matthew.

This is easy to explain if Matthew wrote later: He was simply an organizer, and so he organized the sayings he found in Luke.

However, the reverse is harder to explain: If Luke used Matthew then he would have had to smash Matthew’s beautifully organized blocks and scatter the material around in a far less obviously organized way.

Defenders of the Farrer Hypothesis argue that Luke had reasons for doing this, but, if so, they are not obvious, whereas Matthew’s organizational scheme is clear.

At least on the level of appearances, it is hard to avoid Reginald Fuller’s rather brusque assessment that, if the Farrer Hypothesis were true, Luke would present us with “a case of unscrambling the egg with a vengeance!” (The New Testament in Current Study, 1963).

B. H. Streeter put the matter even more brusquely when he argued that the way Luke would have to treat the material he drew from Matthew, in comparison with what he drew from Mark, by saying that “a theory which would make an author capable of such a proceeding would only be tenable if, on other grounds, we had reason to believe he was a crank” (The Four Gospels, 183).

Streeter is too harsh, but given the problems with the Q Hypothesis and the fact that it’s easier to explain Matthew’s use of Luke rather than the reverse, I come to the tentative conclusion that Luke wrote before Matthew.

This would put the writing of Matthew in the decade between the publication of Luke and the destruction of the temple, say around A.D. 65.

 

External Evidence?

It’s always good to support deductions from evidence internal to the Gospels with evidence external to them, and it happens that in this case there is a piece of confirmatory, external evidence. Writing around 189, St. Irenaeus of Lyons states:

Matthew also issued a written Gospel among the Hebrews in their own dialect, while Peter and Paul were preaching at Rome, and laying the foundations of the Church. After their departure, Mark, the disciple and interpreter of Peter, did also hand down to us in writing what had been preached by Peter (Against Heresies 3:1).

Note that Irenaeus states Matthew wrote his Gospel “while Peter and Paul were preaching in Rome.” That would place its composition between Paul’s arrival in Rome, which I have dated to A.D. 58, and their martyrdoms, which occurred in the mid 60s (likely 65 or 66 in the case of Peter and 67 in the case of Paul).

Irenaeus thus confirms the general date I have proposed for Matthew.

However, we must not place too much weight on this fact, for Irenaeus appears to imply that Mark was written after Peter and Paul’s deaths, and thus after Matthew, which would not be correct. Also, he states that Matthew wrote among the Hebrews “in their own dialect” (Greek, tê idia dialektô), which could merely mean that he wrote in a Jewish style—which would be true—but which more naturally would mean that he wrote in the Aramaic language, which appears not to have been the case.

Despite these difficulties, it is possible that Irenaeus, writing about 125 years later, preserves an authentic memory of when Matthew’s Gospel was written.

 

Conclusion

Regardless of what one thinks of Irenaeus, we have the following approximate dates for the Synoptic Gospels:

  • Mark: around 55
  • Luke: around 59
  • Matthew: around 65

But what about John? That’s what we’ll turn to next.

Was Matthew Written BEFORE A.D. 70?

Recently we’ve been looking at the question of when the Gospel of Matthew was composed.

In our first post, we argued that Matthew was written sometime between A.D. 55 and 100, and since then we’ve been trying to narrow down the range.

A key event falling in the middle of this period was the conquest of Jerusalem and the destruction of its temple in A.D. 70.

In our previous post, we looked at arguments that Matthew was written after this traumatic event and found that they lack force.

But do we have reasons to think that the Gospel was written before 70?

Let’s look at the evidence . . .

 

Authorship by the Apostle?

The external evidence found in the writings of the Church Fathers is strongly in favor of the Apostle Matthew as the author of the Gospel attributed to him.

Some have argued that it would be unlikely for Matthew to have written after A.D. 70, meaning it had an earlier date than this.

I’ve studied the likely ages of the apostles, and it can be reasonably estimated that Matthew was born sometime around A.D. 4. He thus would have been in his 60s when Jerusalem was destroyed, and that’s by no means an unreasonable age for an author in the ancient world.

While it’s true that the ancients had shorter lifespans than ours, this is primarily due to the high infant mortality rate. Anyone who survived to adulthood—like Matthew—would have a lifespan almost equal to our own. Thus Raymond Brown, SJ, comments:

Most who think that the apostle Matthew himself wrote the Gospel tend toward a pre-70 dating (although obviously the apostle could have lived till later in the century) (An Introduction to the New Testament, 216).

Similarly, D. A. Carson and Douglas Moo observe:

If the apostle Matthew is judged, on balance, to be the evangelist, a date before A.D. 70 is more plausible (though certainly not necessary—there is excellent evidence that the apostle John was active for at least two decades after 70) (An Introduction to the New Testament, 2nd ed, 155).

The argument thus has some weight, but it is far from decisive.

 

Passages Presupposing the Temple?

Matthew contains a number of passages that envision the temple as still functioning:

If you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift (Matt. 5:23-24).

Have you not read in the law how on the sabbath the priests in the temple profane the sabbath, and are guiltless? (Matt. 12:5).

He who swears by the altar, swears by it and by everything on it; and he who swears by the temple, swears by it and by him who dwells in it (Matt. 23:20-21).

It could be argued that Matthew is simply quoting things Jesus said during his ministry and that this has no further significance, but that is open to challenge.

We need to ask the question: Why did Matthew choose to record these things, of all the Jesus traditions he had at his disposal? Surely, he thought they were relevant to his audience, and they would be more relevant if the temple were still standing.

The first and the last, especially, would be more relevant to his audience of Jewish Christians if the temple were standing, because otherwise they could not go to Jerusalem and offer a gift at the altar—nor would they be tempted to swear by an altar or a temple that had been demolished as a result of God’s judgment.

These passages thus add weight to the case for a pre-70 date.

 

The Temple Tax

A passage deserving special note is the one dealing with the temple tax:

When they came to Capernaum, the collectors of the half-shekel tax went up to Peter and said, “Does not your teacher pay the tax?”

 He said, “Yes.” And when he came home, Jesus spoke to him first, saying, “What do you think, Simon? From whom do kings of the earth take toll or tribute? From their sons or from others?”

And when he said, “From others,” Jesus said to him, “Then the sons are free. However, not to give offense to them, go to the sea and cast a hook, and take the first fish that comes up, and when you open its mouth you will find a shekel; take that and give it to them for me and for yourself” (Matt. 17:24-27).

Jesus thus implies that he and Peter do not need to pay the temple tax but should do so anyway to avoid giving offense.

The reason this is significant for our purposes is not just that Jewish Christians wouldn’t need to pay the temple tax once the structure was in ruins, it is that the Romans repurposed the tax so that it supported the temple of Jupiter Best and Greatest—i.e., the Capitoline Temple in Rome! The Jewish historian Josephus reports:

He [Domitian] also laid a tribute upon the Jews wheresoever they were and enjoined every one of them to bring two drachmae every year into the Capitol, as they used to pay the same to the temple at Jerusalem (Jewish War 7:6:6[218]).

Similarly, the Roman historian Cassius Dio states:

From that time forth it was ordered that the Jews who continued to observe their ancestral customs should pay an annual tribute of two denarii to Jupiter Capitolinus (Roman History 65:7:2).

Some Jews tried to avoid paying this tax (which amounted to just two days’ wages), even by the expedient of posing as Gentiles. Yet payment was rigorously enforced, at times in humiliating ways. The Roman historian Suetonius reports:

Besides other taxes, that on the Jews was levied with the utmost rigor, and those were prosecuted who without publicly acknowledging that faith yet lived as Jews, as well as those who concealed their origin and did not pay the tribute levied upon their people. I recall being present in my youth when the person of a man ninety years old was examined before the procurator and a very crowded court, to see whether he was circumcised (The Twelve Caesars “Domitian” 12:2).

Diverting tax money that originally supported the temple in Jerusalem to support the key temple in Rome was an enormous insult to Jewish sensibilities, and the fact they were forced to pay it was a profound humiliation.

For Matthew—if he was writing after A.D. 70—to portray Jesus as condoning the payment of this tax would have risked confusing, alienating, or outraging members of his audience. Jesus could even be understood as financially supporting idolatry so as “not to give offense”!

The inclusion of the passage in his Gospel is far more understandable if Matthew were writing before 70, when Jewish Christians still needed to wrestle with the question of whether to support the temple whose officials had rejected and crucified Jesus and whose destruction he had prophesied. Carson and Moo state:

Even if for other reasons Matthew had wanted to preserve this pericope, it is hard to see how, if he was writing after 70, he could have permitted such an implication without comment (p. 156).

 

An Exhortation to Pray

Matthew 24 contains a major prophetic discourse dealing with the events leading up to the destruction of the Jerusalem temple.

During the course of the discourse, Jesus says that when the abomination of desolation spoken of by Daniel appears “standing in the holy place” that those in Judea are to “flee to the mountains” (Matt. 24:15-16). He warns them to flee immediately, not going back for anything, and then he says:

Pray that your flight may not be in winter or on a sabbath (Matt. 24:20).

It is well known that the Christian community in Jerusalem did flee the Jewish War, taking up residence in the Jordanian settlement of Pella (Eusebius, Church History 3:5:3).

Like all ancient authors, Matthew was conscious of the need to save space in his book so that it would fit on a single scroll, and he regularly drops words and phrases from Mark for just this reason.

So why would he preserve this exhortation to Judean Christians to pray that their flight not take place in winter or on a sabbath (when travel would be difficult) if the flight had already occurred and the need to pray no longer existed?

 

No Fulfillment Notice

Another, even weightier aspect of Matthew 24 is the fact that it’s Jesus’ major prophetic discourse in the Gospel, and it’s focused on the destruction of the temple, which Jesus predicts at the very beginning of the chapter (Matt. 24:1-2).

Despite the fact this is Jesus’ longest prophecy, and thus of great importance to Matthew, he nowhere records that it has been fulfilled.

This requires explanation. The Evangelists regularly report it when Jesus made a prophecy that was later fulfilled, as it shows his credentials as a true prophet.

Thus when they record Jesus predicting his arrest, death, and resurrection, the Evangelists correspondingly report these prophecies being fulfilled.

Matthew, of all the Evangelists, is especially noted for including prophetic fulfillment notices in his Gospel (Matt. 1:23, 2:6, 17, 23, 3:3, 4:14-16, 13:14).

Similarly, Matthew breaks the flow of his narrative to report on conditions in his own day (Matt. 27:8, 28:15).

In view of these factors, we would expect Matthew in particular, of all the Evangelists, to comment on the fulfillment of Jesus’ prophecy concerning the temple. As the German scholar Theodor Zahn commented:

If “to this day” (27:8, 28:15) were after the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple, we would expect that an author who values so highly as does Matthew proof based upon the occurrence of prophecy and its fulfilment for the justification of Christ over against Judaism, would indicate somewhere and in some manner that the prophecy of Jesus had been fulfilled in this judgment (Introduction to the New Testament, 571).

Yet he does not do so. This puts the destruction of the temple in the same category as other yet-to-be-fulfilled prophecies, such as the Second Coming.

Particularly in light of the space Matthew devotes to the prophecy, the fact he does not give us a fulfillment notice strongly argues for a pre-70 date.

 

No Disentanglement

Even more striking, Matthew makes no attempt to disentangle the Second Coming from the events leading up to the temple.

Each of the Synoptic Gospels speaks of there being a “coming” of Jesus in the discourse about the temple’s destruction (Matt. 24:30, Mark 13:26, Luke 21:27).

In my view, this was not the Second Coming but a coming in judgment, as when the Old Testament describes God “riding the clouds” when he comes in judgment on a people (Ps. 104:3; Isa. 19:1-2; Jer. 4:13-14).

However, to the first Christians (and many since), it would have been easily confused with the Second Coming of Christ.

We would thus expect the Evangelists—if they were writing after 70—either to drop the references to this coming from the discourse or to somehow clarify for the audience that it wasn’t the Second Coming.

To fail to do this could scandalize the audience by making it look like Jesus predicted the Second Coming at a time when it failed to occur.

Yet they do not do so. Contemporary scholar Donald Hagner comments:

Matthew’s redaction of the Markan eschatological discourse makes no attempt to disentangle the references to the fall of Jerusalem and the end of the age (chap. 24). Luke very deliberately does so in his redaction of Mark 13, and we might expect Matthew to do the same had it been written after 70. Indeed, the evangelist aggravates the problem considerably by his insertion of eutheôs, “immediately,” in 24:29, which leaves the clear impression that he expected the parousia of the Son of Man to occur in close succession to the fall of Jerusalem (Word Biblical Commentary, Matthew 1-13, vol. 33A, lxxiv).

The fact that the Synoptic Evangelists neither drop the “coming” language nor clarify that it doesn’t refer to the Second Coming strongly implies that they—Matthew included—were writing before the destruction of the temple.

That would indicate that Matthew’s Gospel was written sometime between Mark—around A.D. 55—and the destruction of the temple in 70.

But can we be more specific? That’s what we’ll look at in our next and final post on Matthew’s date.

Was Matthew Written AFTER A.D. 70?

Many scholars hold that the Gospel of Matthew was written after the traumatic events of A.D. 70, when the Jewish War came to its climax and the Jerusalem temple was destroyed.

In a previous post, we argued that Matthew was written sometime between A.D. 55 and 100, but what are we to make of the arguments that it was composed after 70?

Let’s look at the evidence . . .

 

Presupposing the Destruction of the Temple?

Some have argued that Matthew was written after 70 because it depicts Jesus predicting the destruction of the temple (Matt. 24:1-2).

However, this is not a good argument, for it presupposes that Jesus could not have predicted such an event.

Indeed, one doesn’t even have to suppose that Jesus was a genuine prophet, just that he was a shrewd observer of “the signs of the times” (Matt. 16:3) and could deduce the likely outcome of Jewish anti-Roman passions and the war that they would produce.

The temple had already been destroyed once, and the fear it might happen again was real.

Jesus wasn’t even the only person to predict its destruction in advance. (More here.)

The weakness of the argument in this form is acknowledged by many scholars, and so a refinement has been proposed that argues Matthew’s Gospel contains passages which presuppose that the event has already happened. Raymond Brown, SJ, writes:

For instance, the omission in Matt. 21:13 of the description of the Jerusalem Temple as serving “for all the nations” (Mark 11:17) and the reference in Matt. 22:7 to the king burning the city may reflect the destruction at Jerusalem by the Roman armies in A.D. 70.

These arguments are both quite weak. Note that Brown only says the passages “may reflect” the events of 70.

 

“For All the Nations”

The first passage reads:

He said to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you make it a den of robbers” (Matt. 21:13).

It’s true that Mark adds “for all the nations” after “a house of prayer,” but one can’t argue that Matthew deleted this out of animus for Gentiles after the Romans destroyed the temple.

As we’ve seen, Matthew is far from being hostile to Gentiles, and the theme of their evangelization and salvation is a prominent one in his Gospel.

If we want an explanation for why he would delete this phrase, we need look no further than the fact Matthew incorporates 90% of the material in Mark and thus needs to shorten it so that he can fit in all of the additional material he wants to include in his Gospel.

Matthew thus regularly drops words and phrases from what he takes from Mark.

 

“And Burned Their City”

The second passage Brown cites occurs at the end of the parable of the wedding banquet, where we read this about the king who is snubbed:

The king was angry, and he sent his troops and destroyed those murderers and burned their city (Matt. 22:7).

This also proves nothing. As D. A. Carson and Douglas Moo observe:

The language of Matthew 22:7, including the reference to the burning of the city, is the standard language of both the Old Testament and the Roman world describing punitive military expeditions against rebellious cities. Granted that Jesus foresaw the destruction of Jerusalem (as did many prophets before him), the language he used does not in any detail depend on specific knowledge as to how things actually turned out in A.D. 70. In fact, [John A.T.] Robinson goes so far as to argue that the synoptic prophecies about the fall of Jerusalem, including Matthew 22:7, are so restrained that they must have been written before 70 (An Introduction to the New Testament, 2nd ed., 153).

The last argument is that the prophecies about the destruction of Jerusalem are so general and in keeping with ordinary Roman practice that they don’t betray a knowledge of the details of what happened in 70, and so they were written before that event. Robinson was a liberal English scholar, and liberal German scholar Adolf von Harnack concurred, stating:

Chap. 22:7 and many other passages are rather in favor of composition before the catastrophe (The Date of the Acts and the Synoptic Gospels, 134, n. 2).

Fundamentally, if Jesus could foresee—supernaturally or otherwise—the conquest of Jerusalem and the destruction of its temple, he could similarly foresee the burning of the city.

 

The Church

Matthew’s Gospel is unique in that it refers to his “church.” In Matthew 16:18, he says “I will build my church,” and in 18:17 he says “tell it to the church.”

It is argued that this reflects a developed understanding of the Church, but this hardly requires a date after A.D. 70.

St. Paul uses the Greek word for church—ekklesia—61 times in his epistles, all of which were written before A.D. 70.

St. Luke uses it a further 23 times in Acts, which was also written before A.D. 70 (specifically, in A.D. 60, as we discussed before).

The word “church” for the community of Jesus’ followers thus was well established long before the events of 70.

 

Separation from the Synagogue?

Sometimes it is argued that Matthew displays knowledge of the final separation of church and synagogue in passages like these:

Beware of men; for they will deliver you up to councils, and flog you in their synagogues (Matt. 10:17).

Therefore, I send you prophets and wise men and scribes, some of whom you will kill and crucify, and some you will scourge in your synagogues and persecute from town to town (Matt. 23:34).

The final separation of church and synagogue is then argued to have taken place around A.D. 85, when the Birkath ha-Minim (Hebrew, “blessing concerning the heretics”) is said to have been introduced into Jewish prayer and thus prevented Jewish Christians from participation in Jewish worship, since it was directed against them.

However, there are multiple problems with this argument.

First, the history and interpretation of the Birkath ha-Minim is highly debatable, making it too uncertain to use as a marker for dating.

Second, the alleged introduction of it around 85—if that even is when it was introduced—is a dividing line of convenience. The separation of church and synagogue was a lengthy process that cannot be assigned to a single date.

Third, the verses in question do not speak of Jewish Christians being excluded from the synagogue by the introduction of a prayer. They speak of them being beaten in synagogues.

Fourth, the verses actually speak of a time before the separation was complete. They envision a time when Jewish Christians were still attending the synagogue and thus could be subject to beatings there.

Fifth, the persecution of Christians attending synagogues, including beatings, is precisely what we see in the book of Acts (9:2, 20-23, 13:43-50, 14:1-6, 17:1-5, 10-13, 18:17, 22:19, 26:11), and the events it records took place between A.D. 33 and 60.

Sixth, this objection presupposes that Jesus could not have—supernaturally or otherwise—foreseen the consequences of the spread of the Christian message for his followers (despite the fact he foresaw his own death and undertook actions he knew would provoke the Jewish authorities).

 

“To This Day”

Matthew 27:8 refers to the fact that the field where Judas died has been called the field of blood “to this day,” and Matthew 28:15 reports that the idea the disciples stole Jesus’ body has been circulating among non-Christian Jews “to this day.”

Concerning such passages, Raymond Brown argues:

Two passages (27:8; 28:15) describe items in the Matthean passion narrative that are remembered “to this day,” using an OT phrase to explain place names from long ago (Gen. 26:33; 2 Sam. 6:8). Such a description would be very inappropriate if Matt was written only two or three decades after A.D. 30/33 (An Introduction to the New Testament, 216).

This is very weak. The phrase “to this day” may be used in the Old Testament to refer to things that started in the distant past, but this is far from a required condition.

Despite Brown’s reference to “two or three decades,” in context he is using this as an argument against Matthew having a pre-A.D. 70 date. The difference between A.D. 30 and 70 is four decades, and Brown himself places Matthew’s composition in “80-90, give or take a decade” (p. 172).

So . . . “two or three decades” would be a “very inappropriate” period to warrant the use of the phrase “to this day” but four or five would make it appropriate?

That’s hardly plausible. All that the phrase indicates is that some period of time which the author deems significant has passed, and a distance of 30 years—quite long in the lifetime of an ancient person—would be quite sufficient.

 

Conclusion

We haven’t found any good arguments for Matthew being written after A.D. 70.

Are there good arguments for it being written before 70?

That’s what we’ll turn to next . . .

When Was Matthew Written? (A First Pass)

The date of the Gospel of Matthew is commonly estimated by scholars to be in the late first century.

Raymond Brown, SJ, who places it “80-90, give or take a decade” (An Introduction to the New Testament, 172), states:

The majority view dates Matt to the period 70–100; but some significant conservative scholars argue for a pre-70 dating (p. 216).

Let’s look at what the evidence suggests . . .

 

Latest Possible Date

Scholars refer to the latest possible date that a document could have been written as its terminus ante quem (Latin, “limit before which”), and today scholars are agreed that Matthew was written before the beginning of the new century.

We will not review the evidence for this in detail, but it is generally held that St. Ignatius of Antioch, who wrote around A.D. 108, displays awareness of Matthew’s Gospel.

For example, he says that Jesus was “baptized by John in order that all righteousness might be fulfilled by him” (Ig.Smyr. 1:1). This specific motive for Jesus’ baptism is found in Matthew 3:15 and nowhere else in the New Testament.

Similarly, Ignatius warns against false brethren who “are not the Father’s planting” (Ig.Phil. 3:1). This appears to echo Matthew 15:13, where Jesus warns against “Every plant which my heavenly Father has not planted”—a statement found only in his Gospel.

It is, of course, unlikely that Matthew would have been written and then immediately be referred to by Ignatius, making it likely that the Gospel would have been at least several years earlier, putting its composition sometime in the first century. (For additional factors pointing in this direction, see Brown, 216).

 

Earliest Possible Date

Scholars refer to the earliest possible date that a document could have been written as its terminus post quem (“limit after which”).

Since Matthew describes the death and resurrection of Jesus, this would put its composition after the events of A.D. 30 or 33, but we can show it was later than that.

 

Gentile Interest

Matthew is famous for being the most Jewish of the canonical Gospels, and it appears to have been written for an audience of Jewish Christians.

However, it displays a keen awareness of the mission to the Gentiles and the role they have in God’s plan. This awareness becomes apparent in its opening verses, when Matthew breaks the normal practice of biblical genealogies and includes Gentile women in Jesus’ genealogy (Matt. 1:3, 5, and possibly 6).

Interest in Gentiles is continued in the next chapter, when Matthew records the visit of the magi to honor the newborn king (Matt. 2:1-12).

We will not recount every passage in which Matthew displays interest in Gentiles and their role in God’s plan, but a number of passages are striking, as when Jesus declares:

Not even in Israel have I found such faith. I tell you, many will come from east and west and sit at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the sons of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness (Matt. 8:10-12).

I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a nation producing the fruits of it (Matt. 21:43).

And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached throughout the whole world, as a testimony to all nations (Matt. 24:14).

The theme of Gentile mission comes to a climax at the very end of the Gospel, in the Great Commission, where Jesus declares:

Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit (Matt. 28:19).

The full significance of the last passage is often lost in translation, because English speakers are generally unaware that the word used for nations—ethnê—is the same word translated “Gentiles” in other contexts.

It is difficult not to conclude that—from the beginning of his Gospel to its end—Matthew is carefully building a case for his Jewish audience that it is appropriate to evangelize Gentiles and include them in the Christian community.

This case needed to be laid because this issue was controversial in first century Jewish Christian circles, and many held that Gentiles needed to be circumcised and become Jews to be saved as Christians (see Acts 10-11, 15, Galatians 1-2).

The controversy started when the Gospel began to be preached to Gentiles at Antioch (Acts 11:19-21), and it accelerated following the Gentile conversions that occurred during Paul’s First Missionary Journey (Acts 13-14), leading to the council in Acts 15.

Despite the council, the controversy continued for some years, as Paul continues to address it in Galatians, Romans, and Ephesians.

The council of Jerusalem took place in A.D. 49, so it would not have been appropriate for Matthew to quote from it in a biography of Jesus, but it appears that he did reach back into Jesus’ life and ministry for the facts needed to address the controversy.

That Matthew would feel the need to address the controversy—and to have so carefully built his case and made it so integral to the structure of his Gospel—suggests that he was writing after A.D. 49.

 

After Mark

For many centuries, it was commonly held that Matthew was the first Gospel to be written and that Mark then abbreviated it. This proposal, which was entertained by St. Augustine, is thus known as the Augustinian Hypothesis.

However, this view has fallen out of favor in recent centuries.

Although I’ve been sympathetic to the idea that Matthew wrote first, a detailed study of the evidence convinced me that the reverse was true, and that Matthew not only wrote after Mark, he used Mark as one of his principal sources.

This would place the composition of Matthew’s Gospel after that of Mark’s—and we can reasonably date that to the A.D. 50s. Two lines of evidence support this:

  • Luke also used Mark as one of his sources, and Luke appears to have been written around A.D. 59, just before he composed the book of Acts, whose narrative cuts off suddenly in A.D. 60, when Paul is awaiting his first trial in Rome.
  • Various factors indicate that Mark based his Gospel on the reminiscences of Peter, whose traveling companion he had become. However, Mark did not become Peter’s companion until after his partnership with Paul was severed following the Jerusalem Council of A.D. 49 (see Acts 15:36-39). Therefore, Mark became Peter’s companion sometime in the 50s.

For Mark to have time to write his Gospel, and for it to have come into Luke’s possession, it is thus likely that Mark wrote sometime in the mid-50s, say A.D. 55.

We can thus infer that Matthew wrote sometime between about 55 and 100.

But we can narrow this down further, as we will see next time.

When Was the Gospel of Mark Written?

The Gospel of Mark is widely regarded by scholars today as the first of the Gospels to be penned. But when, specifically, did that happen?

Let’s take a look at the evidence . . .

 

Was Mark First?

For many centuries, it was commonly held that Matthew was the first of the Gospels to be written, and that Mark then abridged Matthew to make it shorter. This view is known as the Augustinian Hypothesis, since St. Augustine proposed it.

As the author of a book on the Church Fathers, I take the views expressed in early centuries seriously.

However, after a careful study of the issue, I was forced to conclude that the Augustinian Hypothesis is incorrect, that Mark wrote first and then Matthew expanded it.

I explain the reasons for this here.

 

Mark’s Relationship to Luke

It is widely recognized that Luke—like Matthew—used Mark as one of his sources.

Luke even refers to prior written sources in his prologue, telling his patron Theophilus that “many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things which have been accomplished among us” (Luke 1:1).

The fact that Mark was one of those narratives is confirmed by the fact that Luke uses about 55% of the material in Mark (B. H. Streeter, The Four Gospels, 160).

This means that we can place the composition of Mark sometime before that of Luke.

In our previous post we saw that there are good reasons to hold that Luke was written around A.D. 59, which would then be the latest possible date for Mark.

However, it is probable that it was written some time before that.

How much before?

 

Mark’s Life Story

We first meet Mark in Acts 12:12, when Peter visits the house of his mother in Jerusalem.

In Acts 12:25, Barnabas and Paul take Mark with them when they return from Jerusalem to their home base in Antioch.

In the next chapter, the Holy Spirit calls Barnabas and Paul to embark on the First Missionary Journey (Acts 13:2), and they take Mark with them.

However, we later learn (Acts 15:38) that Mark had turned back early in the journey, when they reached Pamphylia on the southern coast of modern Turkey.

Thus when Paul and Barnabas were preparing to set out on the Second Missionary Journey, a dispute arose between them:

Barnabas wanted to take with them John called Mark. But Paul thought best not to take with them one who had withdrawn from them in Pamphylia, and had not gone with them to the work. And there arose a sharp contention, so that they separated from each other; Barnabas took Mark with him and sailed away to Cyprus (Acts 15:37-39).

A factor in this dispute was likely that Mark was Barnabas’s cousin (Col. 4:10).

Paul and Barnabas thus dissolved their longstanding partnership over the dispute concerning Mark, and Barnabas took him on an otherwise unrecorded journey to Barnabas’s native island of Cyprus (Acts 4:36).

We know from the New Testament that Mark later formed a close bond with Peter, who refers to him as his spiritual son and who was with him during his ministry in Rome (1 Pet. 5:13).

We also learn that Paul eventually reconciled with Mark (2 Tim. 4:11).

 

Putting Dates to Events

The part of Mark’s life story that is important for our purposes is the period he spent with Peter.

We do not know when this began, but the journey that Mark took with Barnabas would have occurred in A.D. 49, and it would have taken some time. Mark thus likely became a companion of Peter in the 50s.

This is significant because the first century source John the Presbyter reveals that Mark based his Gospel on Peter’s reminiscences. The Presbyter is reported to have said:

Mark, having become the interpreter of Peter, wrote down accurately, though not in order, whatsoever he remembered of the things said or done by Christ. For he neither heard the Lord nor followed him, but afterward, as I said, he followed Peter, who adapted his teaching to the needs of his hearers, but with no intention of giving a connected account of the Lord’s discourses, so that Mark committed no error while he thus wrote some things as he remembered them. For he was careful of one thing, not to omit any of the things which he had heard, and not to state any of them falsely (Eusebius, Church History 3:39:15).

If we know that Mark didn’t become Peter’s traveling companion until the 50s, and if he had to have written before Luke was published in 59, then this means Mark must have written his Gospel sometime in that decade.

Although Mark likely heard Peter preach in Jerusalem, John the Presbyter ties the composition of his Gospel to the period when he was serving as Peter’s assistant. We should thus understand it to be based on not Mark’s memories of Peter’s preaching from years earlier, but on what he heard during their period of mutual ministry.

We should thus allow some time (1) for Mark to absorb (or re-absorb) Peter’s preaching and (2) some time for Mark’s Gospel to come into Luke’s hands and be absorbed by him.

We can therefore estimate that Mark’s Gospel was written sometime in the mid 50s, say around A.D. 55.

It might even be slightly earlier than this if Mark is the mysterious “brother whose praise is in the gospel” that Paul refers to in 2 Corinthians 8:18, since 2 Corinthians was written around A.D. 54-55.

In any event, we have good reason to place the dating of Luke in 59 and Mark a few years earlier than that, in the 50s.

What about Matthew? That’s the subject we will turn to next.