I’m missing the opening of The Hobbit tonight, so I’ll spend some time thinking of one of Tolkien’s great friends, C.S. Lewis. Lewis said that Jesus described himself too much as God to be considered a great man, unless it was true. Some criticize Lewis for leaving out the possibility that Jesus was just a legend. I argue here, on grounds similar to Lewis’s, that the accounts of Jesus’ life are too good to be legend.
It all begins with Lewis’s famous Liar/Lunatic/Lord trilemma, found in his classic Mere Christianity:
I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: “I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept His claim to be God.” That is the one thing we must not say. A man who said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic–on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg–or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.
What a master of word Lewis was! I tried to echo some of his phrasing below, and I had to give up. Still, not all have founded this argument of his to be compelling. Criticisms have been raised especially against Lewis’s assumption here that Jesus existed, and that he said what the New Testament (NT) claims he did. What if there was no Jesus, or what if he didn’t say what was ascribed to him?
The complaint is misdirected in the first place, since the trilemma is specifically aimed at shutting out the possibility that Jesus was just a great moral teacher. Of course it assumes that the NT record of Jesus’ teachings is generally accurate: it is addressed to an audience that shares that assumption, and was intended to address an objection specific to that group.
So it seems the possibility remains that Jesus’ life and words were legendary. Or does it? There’s a growing body of research leading scholars to consensus not only that Jesus lived but that he was a teacher and miracle worker. No less a skeptic than Jesus Seminar leader John Dominic Crossan has said,
I hold, in summary, that Jesus, as a magician and miracle worker, was a very problematic and controversial phenomenon not only for his enemies but even for his friends.
Of course Crossan would not see Jesus’ miracles as evidence of deity, but as “some kind of socioreligious phenomenon.”
Yet I think there is yet another reason to reject this strange beast’s fourth horn, the Legend tusk that has sprouted along with Liar, Lunatic, and of course Lord. (This will look familiar to regular readers here, since I wrote about it in October and echoed it in part more recently, though not in context of the trilemma.)
The Legend hypothesis asks us to believe that a beleaguered faith community invented Jesus, either in whole or in part. Perhaps there was a great man of that name, perhaps he spoke inspiring words and did great deeds, and perhaps a band of followers gathered around him; or perhaps not. All we can surmise is that there sprang up in the first or second centuries a faith community in his name. This brave band persisted in spite of the pressure of Jewish and Roman persecution, holding on even more tightly to their hope in Jesus (whatever that meant to them at the time) even after it had been proved futile.
Such things have been observed in modern times. What has never been observed, however, is any such group inventing someone like Jesus Christ.
Christ is portrayed as a man of highest ethical standards, the epitome of grace and truth (John 1:14), the great teacher of love, the protector of the oppressed, the righteous warrior against abuse of power. He came not to be served but to serve, he said, and to give his life a ransom for many (Mark 10:35). Bonhoeffer called him “the man for others,” and there could hardly be any disagreement with his assessment of the way Jesus is portrayed. Whoever this troubled community of faith might have been, they must have included men and women of great moral genius.
But that’s hardly half of it, for the account we have of Jesus also shows him having unimaginable power. He walked on water. He stilled the storm with just a word. He healed many, and raised some who had been dead, even up to four days (John 11). He fed 5,000 with just a few loaves and fish. He could do whatever he wanted.
I have worked with men of great temporal and political power. I have never met one, though, nor have I heard of one or even read of one in any fictional account, who used his power one hundred percent for the good of others. Lord Acton said it well: “All power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Yet Jesus with his absolute power showed absolutely no sign of being corrupted by it. When tempted to turn stones into bread, to satisfy a normal human hunger following a long period of fasting, he refused to take that shortcut. He didn’t fly, he walked. When he got tired he was tired, until he rested. When he was on trial for his life, he had legions of angels at his disposal, but he accepted the court’s sentence of death. He didn’t heal himself of the wounds of his flogging. He gave himself up instead. Even when he rose from the dead, when he could have rounded up his killers and knocked their heads together, he went instead to places where his presence would bring joy.
If this was fiction, it was fiction of an order all its own. If this was the product of a community in trouble, then what genius inspired them to create it? What caused them to remain nameless, and to ascribe their work to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? What reason did they have to leave their own story so far in the background as to be virtually undetectable? Were these crafters of a false Messiah intend their story to be believed? Every sign points to that, both in the NT documents and in the external testimony of early Christian leaders. If they intended it to be believed, and they knew it was false, were they not crafting a deceit? If they did not realize it was false, were they not delusional?
So it seems we have another trilemma. Whoever wrote the Gospel accounts, they were either witnesses to the greatest moral genius of all the ages, or were the creators of the greatest moral genius of all fiction. Were they fraudulent moral geniuses? The very sentence fails for self-contradiction. Were they deluded moral geniuses? This seems hardly more likely. To accept either of these options is to fly in the face of all that we know about human nature. It would require a prodigy that was greater, more mysterious, less comprehensibly explained, and far less comprehensively situated in revelational history than Jesus Christ himself.
To believe either of these, in other words, would take more faith than to recognize these early authors were what they claimed to be: witnesses to the great power and love of Jesus Christ himself.
The account of Jesus’ life is too good to be false.
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