NEW LIGHT ON CHRISTMAS:
HOW GRECO-ROMAN BIOGRAPHIES ILLUMINATE THE
HISTORIOGRAPHIC CHARACTER OF LUKE 1–2
by
Caleb T. Friedeman
B.A. (Ancient Languages), Asbury University, 2011
M.A. (Biblical Literature), Wesley Biblical Seminary, 2013
A PAPER
Presented at the annual meeting
of the Evangelical Theological Society
Atlanta, Georgia
November 2015
Introduction
Gospel birth narratives have fallen on hard times in recent scholarship.1 Skepticism
toward the gospel birth narratives is hardly new; Justin Martyr was defending the virginal
conception against Trypho and others as early as the mid-second century.2 However, the twentyfirst century has seen a number of publications by both professing Christians and non-Christians
alike that challenge the trustworthiness of Matthew’s and Luke’s accounts of Jesus’ birth.3
One of the key issues in this discussion is the question of genre: What were the generic
expectations for birth stories in the ancient world? In treatments of gospel birth narratives,
scholars frequently note parallels from contemporary Greco-Roman literature and leverage these
to argue that the gospel birth narratives were not meant to communicate historical information
about Jesus’ birth; rather, they served to foreshadow his future greatness.4
Two recent examples illustrate this trend: In his 2003 book Born Divine: The Births of
Jesus and Other Sons of God, Robert Miller asserts that in the ancient world “stories about
divine paternity were purely interpretive, not informational. They were not based on knowledge
1
In this paper, “gospel(s)” refers to the canonical gospels unless otherwise noted. I will
use “birth narrative” as a broad category that encapsulates conception, birth, childhood (e.g.,
Matt 2:1–23), and even early adolescence (e.g., Luke 2:41–51).
2
Dial. 67–70; 1 Apol. 21–23.
3
Robert J. Miller, Born Divine: The Births of Jesus and Other Sons of God (Santa Rosa,
CA: Polebridge, 2003); Roger D. Aus, Matthew 1–2 and the Virginal Conception: In the Light of
Palestinian and Hellenistic Judaic Traditions on the Birth of Israel’s First Redeemer, Moses
(Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2004); Andrew T. Lincoln, Born of a Virgin?
Reconceiving Jesus in the Bible, Tradition, and Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013).
4
Ibid., 66–67; Miller, Born Divine, 133–35.
1
2
about heroes’ biological origins. They were created to account for the ‘superhuman’
achievements of extraordinary men. Needless to say, such stories could emerge only after the
heroic quality of their lives had become apparent.”5 He later claims that such stories “were not
evaluated on whether they preserved reliable memories from those who knew his early years.
Instead, they were evaluated on how effectively they introduced the known abilities and
character of the man by making them evident in the manner of his origin and in his childhood
behavior.”6
Similarly, in his 2013 monograph Born of a Virgin? Reconceiving Jesus in the Bible,
Tradition, and Theology, Andrew Lincoln notes that in the birth narratives of bioi, “ancestry,
names, and geographical and political setting may well have support from tradition, but much of
the content, whether traditional or not, involves notions about the gods, fate, auguries, portents,
divination and astrology that are legendary but nevertheless illustrate the significance that
became attached to the subject’s life.”7 A few paragraphs later, he asserts that the legendary
character of such stories has implications for interpreting the gospel birth narratives.8
Miller, Lincoln, and others like them are correct to insist that we read the gospel birth
narratives as first century literature. However, I contend that they have misread the GrecoRoman birth narratives themselves. Although ancient biographers did recount extraordinary
events in their birth narratives, they often did so with a level of historiographic seriousness. In
this paper, I will outline four elements from Greco-Roman birth narratives that suggest—contra
5
Ibid., 134.
6
Ibid., 177.
7
Lincoln, Born of a Virgin, 66.
8
Ibid., 67.
3
Miller and Lincoln—that ancient authors did have a concern for historical accuracy in such
accounts. I will then argue that when we set Luke 1–2 (the most Greco-Roman of the gospel
birth narratives) against this background, Luke appears to present his account as being
historically reliable rather than simply the resurrection retrojected.
Greco-Roman Birth Narratives and Historiography
We begin, then, by examining the relationship between Greco-Roman birth narratives and
ancient historiography. Since the primary literature is copious, I will only discuss biographies
that Miller and Lincoln themselves cite. Presumably, if a case for Luke’s veracity can be made
based on the very Greco-Roman narratives that supposedly testify against it, then the case should
be equally (if not more) compelling with a larger pool of data.
Sources
The first feature to note is that ancient biographers frequently had sources for their birth
accounts and went out of their way to name them. For example, Diogenes Laertius names three
sources for his account of Plato’s conception:
Speusippus in the work entitled Plato’s Funeral Feast, Clearchus in his Encomium on
Plato, and Anaxilaïdes in his second book On Philosophers, tell us that there was a story
at Athens that Ariston made violent love to Perictione, then in her bloom, and failed to
win her; and that, when he ceased to offer violence, Apollo appeared to him in a dream,
whereupon he left her unmolested until her child was born.9
Likewise, Diogenes names several sources for his account of Epicurus’ birth and childhood:
Ariston says in his Life of Epicurus that he derived his work entitled The Canon from the
Tripod of Nausiphanes, adding that Epicurus had been a pupil of this man as well as of
the Platonist Pamphilus in Samos. Further, that he began to study philosophy when he
was twelve years old, and started his own school at thirty-two. He was born, according to
9
Vit. Phil. 3.1, trans. R. D. Hicks, in LCL 184 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1925), 277.
4
Apollodorus in his Chronology, in the third year of the 109th Olympiad, in the
archonship of Sosigenes, on the seventh day of the month Gamelion, in the seventh year
after the death of Plato.10
In this passage Diogenes takes special care to show the reader that the information he recounts
about Epicurus’ adolescent years goes back not only to Ariston, but Nausiphanes, one of
Epicurus’ own teachers.
Other ancient authors name sources for their birth accounts as well. In his Life of
Pythagoras, Porphyry discusses Pythagoras’ country of origin, and cites Neanthes, Apollonius of
Tyana, an unnamed Samian poet, and Lycus (Histories) as sources for the various traditions he
recounts.11 For his account of the infancy of Pythagoras’ servant Astraeus, Porphyry cites
Diogenes, On the Incredible Things Beyond Thule.12 In his account of Themistocles, Plutarch
triangulates the nationality of Themistocles’ mother based on her epitaph and testimonies from
Phanias and Neanthes.13
In numerous other instances, ancient biographers imply that they are drawing on sources,
but do not name the specific author and work. For instance, Suetonius says that “according to the
most numerous and trustworthy authorities,” Tiberius was born at Rome.14 Similarly, at the end
of Augustus’ genealogy Suetonius notes that, “This is all that I have been able to learn about the
10
Vit. Phil. 10.14–15, trans. R. D. Hicks, in LCL 185 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1925), 543.
319.
11
Vit. Pyth. 2–5.
12
Vit. Pyth. 10.
13
Them. 1.
14
Tib. 5, trans. J. C. Rolfe, in LCL 31 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914),
5
paternal ancestors of Augustus.”15 In other cases, the author will include the birth narrative under
an umbrella affirmation of the work’s reliance on sources. So, at the beginning of his biography
of Heracles, Diodoros Siculus discusses the difficulty of the enterprise and concludes by saying
that he will base his account on those of “the most ancient poets and writers of myths.”16
Similarly, in his biography of Apollonius, Philostratus notes the general ignorance about his
subject and gives a lengthy account of the sources he has drawn on for this work.17 This is
followed directly by his report of Apollonius’ ancestry and birth.
The fact that ancient authors named or alluded to sources in their birth narratives suggests
that they felt accountable to their readers for some level of historical accuracy. They apparently
did not think that they could simply refract their subject’s later character back onto his earlier
life. Instead, the biographers studied the material available to them and attempted to give an
accurate account. This is not to say that everything they wrote was true or that all authors did this
equally well. However, a close reading of the literature indicates that authors of ancient birth
narratives felt some accountability for historical accuracy.
Transparency
The second element to note about ancient birth narratives is their transparency: ancient
authors frequently noted when there was uncertainty or disagreement regarding their subjects’
birth and youth. This transparency comes in a number of forms. At some times, the author will
simply admit the ambiguity of their biographical task. A notable example of this is the biography
15
Aug. 2 (LCL 31:153).
16
Bibliotheca historica 4.8.5, trans. C. H. Oldfather, in LCL 303 (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1935), 367.
17
Vit. Apoll. 1.2.3–3.2.
6
of Heracles by Diodoros of Sicily (mentioned above). Diodoros opens the biography with these
words: “I am not unaware that many difficulties beset those who undertake to give an account of
the ancient myths, and especially is this true with respect to the myths about Heracles.”18 He goes
on to note that “some readers set up an unfair standard and require in the accounts of the ancient
myths the same exactness as in the events of our own time,” and suggests that, “When the
histories of myths are concerned, a man should by no means scrutinize the truth with so sharp an
eye.”19 Diodoros is clearly aware that all of his readers will not readily accept his account, and
wants to acknowledge the ambiguity of the investigation from the start. In a similar fashion,
Plutarch notes in his Parallel Lives that one of the reasons he has placed the life of Theseus in
parallel with that of Romulus is that “both were of uncertain and obscure parentage, and got the
reputation of descent from gods.”20
At other times, biographers will exhibit transparency by relating different accounts of the
same birth. For instance, Plutarch notes in his biography of Romulus that there is significant
disagreement about the lineage of Romulus, and goes on to relate five different accounts of his
parentage. 21 Similarly, Plutarch begins his treatment of Lycurgus by noting, “Concerning
Lycurgus the lawgiver, in general, nothing can be said which is not disputed, since indeed there
are different accounts of his birth, his travels, his death, and above all, of his work as lawmaker
18
Bibliotheca historica 4.8.1 (LCL 303:365).
19
Bibliotheca historica 4.8.3–4 (LCL 303:367).
20
Thes. 2, trans. Bernadotte Perrin, in LCL 46 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1914), 5.
21
Rom. 2.
7
and statesman; and there is least agreement among historians as to the times in which the man
lived.”22 Plutarch goes on to relate two conflicting accounts of Lycurgus’ ancestry.
Suetonius fits this pattern as well. In his life of Tiberius, he mentions that although some
hold that Tiberius was born at Fundi, “according to the most numerous and trustworthy
authorities, he was born at Rome.”23 Suetonius goes on to give the specific day, month, and year
of Tiberius’ birth, but notes that some date it a year later and others a year earlier.
The fact that ancient biographers exhibited such transparency in their birth narratives
suggests (1) that many of them were well-researched enough to know the various accounts
available, and (2) that they felt it necessary to show that they were aware of other accounts rather
than simply fabricating their own or telling only one story as if no others existed.
Critical Evaluation
However, as we have begun to see even in the account of Suetonius above, many ancient
authors did not simply stop at noting ambiguity in the tradition and relating the various accounts
available. A third characteristic of ancient birth narratives is that their writers often used critical
evaluation to adjudicate between the available material. One of the best examples of this is the
Life of Pythagoras by Iamblichus, referenced above. Iamblichus notes that one of the Samian
poets says that Pythagoras was the son of Apollo, but then goes on to tell what really happened:
Mnesarchos the Samian was in Delphi on a business trip, with his wife, who was already
pregnant but did not know it. He consulted the Pythia about his voyage to Syria. The
oracle replied that his voyage would be most satisfying and profitable, and that his wife
was already pregnant and would give birth to a child surpassing all others in beauty and
wisdom, who would be of the greatest benefit to the human race in all aspects of life.
Mnesarchos reckoned that the god would not have told him, unasked, about a child,
22
Lyc. 1 (LCL 46:205).
23
Tib. 5, (LCL 31:319).
8
unless there was indeed to be some exceptional and god-given superiority in him. So he
promptly changed his wife’s name from Parthenis to Pythais, because of the birth and the
prophetess. When she gave birth, at Sidon in Phoenicia, he called his son Pythagoras,
because the child had been foretold by Pythia. So we must reject the theory of
Epimenides, Eudoxos and Xenokrates that Apollo had intercourse at that time with
Parthenis, made her pregnant (which she was not before) and told her of it through the
prophetess. But no one who takes account of this birth, and of the range of Pythagoras’
wisdom, could doubt that the soul of Pythagoras was sent to humankind from Apollo’s
retinue, and was Apollo’s companion or still more intimately linked with him. So much,
then for the birth of Pythagoras [emphasis mine].”24
This passage is remarkable for several reasons. First, Iamblichus explicitly rejects the idea that
Apollo fathered Pythagoras, despite the fact that a Samian poet, Epimenides, Eudoxos and
Xenokrates all support this idea. His reason for rejecting Apollo’s paternity is apparently that he
considers the tradition that Pythagoras’ mother was pregnant before reaching Delphi to be more
reliable. Second, although he does discredit the idea that Apollo sired Pythagoras, he
nevertheless affirms the greatness of Pythagoras. He then creates a circumlocution to explain
Pythagoras’ great wisdom, namely that Pythagoras’ soul came from Apollo’s retinue and was a
close acquaintance of Apollo (presumably in his pre-earthly existence). In short, this passage
undermines the thesis that ancient biographers retrojected their subjects’ lives back into their
birth narratives in the form of divine paternity, for this is exactly what Iamblichus does not do
here: He affirms Pythagoras’ divine origins, but rejects the idea that Apollo sired him because he
believes there is a more reliable account.
Another passage that is very interesting in this regard is Plutarch’s oft-cited account of
Romulus’ birth. After noting three other views of Romulus’ lineage, Plutarch includes a fourth
account that he calls “altogether fabulous.” In this story, a “phantom phallus” rises out of the
hearth in the house of Tarchetius, king of the Albans. An oracle tells Tarchetius that a virgin must
24
Vit. Pyth. 2, trans. Gillian Clark, in Translated Texts for Historians 8 (Liverpool:
Liverpool University Press, 1989), 3.
9
have intercourse with this phallus. The king orders his daughter to copulate with the phantom
phallus, but she disobeys and sends her handmaid to have intercourse with it instead. This
handmaid becomes the mother of Romulus and Remus.25
Plutarch explicitly rejects this story and gives a fifth account that he considers to be most
reliable: “But the story which has the widest credence and the greatest number of vouchers was
first published among the Greeks, in its principal details, by Diodes of Peparethus, and Fabius
Pictor follows him in most points.”26 Plutarch exhibits transparency by noting that there are
variations even in this story, but goes on to give its general outline. Interestingly, this account
that Plutarch endorses has no miraculous conception. The only unusual elements are that a shewolf finds the abandoned twins and nurses them, and that the twins’ mother was a Vestal Virgin
who was found to be pregnant. Although Plutarch notes that some think that Mars was the father
because a woodpecker supposedly helped nurse the twins (woodpeckers were sacred to Mars),
Plutarch seems to think that it was the uncle of the twins’ mother who sired them.
Although examples of critical evaluation could be multiplied, these two passages from
Iamblichus and Plutarch show that at least some ancient biographers did not simply recount
miraculous conceptions of their subjects because of their extraordinary accomplishments as
adults. On the contrary, at least some biographers acknowledged the greatness of their subject,
but nevertheless rejected divine paternity and other miraculous elements on historiographic
grounds. Again, this suggests that ancient writers felt accountable to their readers to give an
accurate account of their subject’s birth.
25
Rom. 2.
26
Rom. 3.
10
Distancing
A fourth characteristic of ancient birth narratives is a phenomenon that I will refer to as
distancing. Frequently, when recounting miraculous or extraordinary events, biographers will
switch to a passive (it is said), third person (she says), or third person impersonal (they say)
construction rather than simply asserting it as fact. For instance, Dio Cassius begins his account
of Octavius’ birth and childhood by making some basic assertions about his subject’s origins.
However, when he reaches the issue of conception, he notes that Octavius’ mother Attia
emphatically declared that the child had been fathered by Apollo, for, “while sleeping once in his
temple, she said, she thought she had intercourse with a serpent.”27 A few sentences later, Dio
introduces a litany of omens regarding Octavius greatness that occurred during his childhood
with the phrase, “These things were reported at that time.”28 I refer to this phenomenon as a
distancing device because rhetorically it seems to create distance between the account and the
biographer’s historiographic reputation—the biographer is simply relaying the information, not
necessarily asserting its veracity.
This “distancing” can also be seen in Pausanius’ account of Theagenes’ lineage.
Pausanius begins by describing Theagenes as “the son of Timosthenes.” He goes on to note that,
“The Thasians say that Timosthenes was not the father of Theagenes, but a priest of the Thasian
Heracles, a phantom of whom in the likeness of Timosthenes had intercourse with the mother of
Theagenes.” 29 Since Pausanius has already described Theagenes as being Timosthenes’ son, he
27
History of Rome 45.1.2–3, trans. Earnest Cary and Herbert B. Foster, in LCL 66
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1916), 409.
28
29
History of Rome 45.1.5 (LCL 66:409).
Descr. Gr. 6.11.2, trans. W. H. S. Jones, in LCL 272 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1933), 65.
11
clearly does not endorse the Thasians’ story, but relates it nonetheless, making clear by his syntax
that it is the opinion of the Thasians rather than his own.
Such distancing devices seem to serve as a way for the authors to relate various accounts
without putting their own reputations on the line. However, simply because they “distance”
themselves from the stories does not necessarily mean that they do not affirm them. On the
contrary, there are several instances where biographers will use a distancing device and go on to
give their approval of this very account.30 The fact that an author uses a passive, third person, or
impersonal construction to frame an account does not necessarily mean he is unwilling to affirm
it. However, rhetorically such syntax does seem to place the responsibility for the veracity of the
account more on the general tradition or on third parties than the author himself.
Divine Begetting
As we have seen above, although ancient birth narratives do recount extraordinary events
that do not seem to fit the bill of sober history, the authors do exhibit a concern for historical
accuracy. Before we bring in Luke, there are two final points to note regarding divine begetting.
First, although divine paternity does occur in many accounts, there are numerous exceptions to
this. As we have already seen, there are a number of instances where ancient writers outright
reject accounts of divine paternity and offer alternative stories involving a human father. At other
times, there is simply no divine begetting at all, only a very normal birth and conception.
Philostratus, for instance, notes in his Life of Apollonius that Apollonius was the son of a man by
the same name, and goes on to relate the following story: “When his mother was still carrying
him, she had a vision of an Egyptian divinity . . . She was not at all frightened, but asked him
30
Plutarch, Alc. 1; Cic. 2.
12
who her child would be. He replied: ‘Myself.’ When she asked ‘Who are you?’ he said, ‘Proteus,
the Egyptian god.’”31 There is no miraculous conception here; Apollonius’ mother simply has a
vision during her very normal pregnancy. Similarly, the only unusual element in Plutarch’s
account of Pericles’ birth and conception is that “in her dreams,” his mother “once fancied that
she had given birth to a lion, and a few days thereafter bore Pericles.”32 Plutarch notes nothing
irregular about Pericles’ conception, and everything in the account implies that she was already
pregnant when she had this dream.33 It would seem that although theogonies were present in
ancient birth narratives, they were hardly a given.
The second point to note regarding divine begetting is that virginal conceptions occur
rarely if ever in bioi (to be precise, to date I have found none, but it is possible that some exist).
From the accounts, it would seem that the ancients had trouble conceiving of conception without
intercourse. Not even the “altogether fabulous” account of Romulus’ and Remus’ birth that
Plutarch relates and rejects contains anything close to a virginal conception. Ancient writers in
their various ways relate all sorts of unusual conceptions involving phantom phalluses, snakes,
gods disguised as humans, humans disguised as other humans, etc. Yet the one thing thing that
does not seem to have crossed the mind of most (or possibly any) ancient authors is a conception
without intercourse.
This data poses serious problems for both Miller and Lincoln’s proposals regarding
conception in the ancient world. Miller claims that, “Ancient readers, before they even opened
31
Vit. Apoll. 1.4, trans. Christopher P. Jones, in LCL 16 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP,
2005), 41.
32
Per. 3, trans. Bernadotte Perrin, in LCL 65 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
1916), 9.
33
Herodotus’ parallel account corroborates this point (Hist. 6.131).
13
the biography of a hero, could expect to find a story about his divine begetting.”34 If this is true,
then why is it that so many biographies of ancient heroes do not assert divine paternity or
explicitly reject it? These numerous exceptions belie a fundamental flaw with Miller’s view.
Similarly, Lincoln asserts that conceptions without human male involvement were part of the
gospels’ own genre.35 This is not technically false, but it overlooks the way in which biographers
portrayed such accounts, as well as the fact that a “conception without human male involvement”
is hardly the same thing as the virginal conception that both Matthew and Luke recount.
Summary
These five elements we have examined—the sources, transparency, critical evaluation,
distancing, and types of divine begetting present in ancient birth narratives—suggest that ancient
authors did not think that their birth stories were “purely interpretive, not informational”; nor did
they expect to be evaluated simply on how well they portrayed a subject’s later abilities and
character in his early life. Furthermore, the historiographic consciousness of the ancient authors
seems to have extended significantly beyond subjects’ “ancestry, names, and geographical and
political setting,” to include other matter such as the method of conception.36 This is not to say
that everything ancient writers put in their birth narratives is to be trusted, but rather to note that
the relationship of ancient birth narratives to historiography is significantly more complex and
interesting than has been acknowledged to this point in the scholarship.
34
Miller, Born Divine, 134
35
Lincoln, Born of a Virgin, 67: “Conceptions without human male involvement belong to
the very context in which early Christian traditions were beginning to take shape as written
Gospels and to the very genre those written Gospels employed.”
36
Ibid., 66.
14
Luke 1–2 and Greco-Roman Birth Narratives
We will now briefly compare Luke 1–2 with this historiographic profile of sorts that we
have sketched of Greco-Roman birth narratives. Luke begins his gospel with a prologue that
places his work squarely on the map of ancient historiography (a term I use broadly to
encompass both history and biography). In this prologue, he discusses the sources he has drawn
on, namely “those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word.” Luke
then proceeds directly to the birth narratives of John and Jesus, which he sets in parallel. To this
point, Luke seems to align well with our Greco-Roman authors. Like Diodorus of Sicily and
Philostratus before him, he includes an umbrella note on his sources that presumably extends to
the whole work including the birth narrative. The idea that Luke’s appeal to sources in the
prologue would apply to the birth narrative as well is also supported by the general interest in
sources that we have seen in the Greco-Roman bioi.
However, when we come to the annunciation narrative (1:26–38), things become even
more interesting. The transparency we have seen in Greco-Roman birth narratives suggests that
if there had been multiple accounts of Jesus’ birth circulating in the early church (as Lincoln
asserts), then there should have been no shame for Luke—who is apparently aware of other
tellings of Jesus’ story (1:1) and has “followed all things closely for some time past” (1:3)—to
say so. However, he does not. Nor does he critically evaluate the story he tells, or distance
himself from the account in any way via passive, third person, or impersonal constructions. On
the contrary, he simply asserts his account as bald fact—angel, virginal V, and all.
Indeed, the fact that Luke relates a virginal conception makes this all the more
interesting. As we have noted above, virginal conceptions were most emphatically not the norm
in ancient birth narratives. Luke is recounting a sort of conception that would have likely been a
15
surprise even for the Greco-Roman world with all of its mythology. In light of this, it is highly
interesting that Luke does not use any of the normal means—transparency, critical evaluation, or
distancing—to moderate his claim. So, when we place Luke against the background of the
Greco-Roman birth narratives, his similarities to these narratives and differences from them
suggest that he believes that he is telling a true story.
Conclusion
In conclusion, I would like to briefly review the argument of this paper and offer some
final remarks. This paper has argued that, contrary to the assertions of Miller, Lincoln, and
others, Greco-Roman biographers did not simply retroject their subject’s later greatness back
onto his or her birth narrative. On the contrary, five elements of Greco-Roman birth narratives—
sources, transparency, critical evaluation, distancing, and the treatment of divine begetting—
suggest that ancient authors did have some concern for historiographic accuracy in such stories.
When we set Luke against this background, it appears that he is indeed asserting that the events
he relates actually happened, and that he is quite confident about this.
Now, since historiographic studies such as this sometimes give way to apologetic
triumphalism, I would like to note that I am emphatically not suggesting that everything in
Greco-Roman birth narratives is trustworthy historiography. Ancient writers, like modern ones,
were quite capable of getting the facts wrong and likely did so both intentionally and
unintentionally. Rather, what I am arguing is that the biographers themselves did not believe that
everything they were writing was true. However, they did feel some obligation to their readers to
offer a trustworthy account, and so they found ways of helping their readers to adjudicate
between fact and fiction. Some of these, such as critical evaluation, were quite explicit; others,
such as transparency and distancing devices, were more implicit.
16
What this literary background suggests is this: If Luke either knew of multiple accounts
of Jesus’ birth circulating in the early church (so Lincoln) or was not sure that his source material
for Jesus’ birth was reliable, he had at his fingertips multiple ways to communicate his
uncertainty, and there would have been no shame in doing so. The fact that he asserts as bald fact
numerous miraculous elements, not least a virginal conception, suggests not only that he
expected his account to be received as reliable historical report, but also that he was extremely
confident in the traditions he recounted—so confident, that he was willing to stake his own
authorial reputation and the trustworthiness of his whole account on them. Recognizing this
reality does not and cannot “prove” the veracity of Luke’s account, but it does demand that the
reader give Luke 1–2 a fair hearing and judge its trustworthiness on its own merits.
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Translated by Bernadotte Perrin. Loeb Classical Library 46. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1914.
________. Lives, Volume III: Pericles and Fabius Maximus. Nicias and Crassus. Translated by
Bernadotte Perrin. Loeb Classical Library 65. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
1916.
17
18
Suetonius. Lives of the Caesars, Volume I: Julius. Augustus. Tiberius. Gaius. Caligula.
Translated by J. C. Rolfe. Loeb Classical Library 31. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1914.