Gospel citations of scripture

A catalogue of citations of scripture in the canonical Christian gospels, by way of a note to myself. Some caveats, terms, and conditions:

1. The gospels don’t quote the Hebrew Bible. They quote Greek texts. They don’t exactly quote the Septuagint either, because there were multiple ‘Septuagint’ recensions, but we can call it ‘Septuagint’ so long as we’re clear that it’s a Septuagint and not the Septuagint.
2. There was no Bible at the time. Just lots of texts. Some of them were considered sacred or sacred-ish, but there was no canon. That’s why New Testament authors are happy to quote texts like Enoch, 1 Maccabees, and the Psalms of Solomon, which are omitted in some modern canons.
3. Only citations, not echoes. You can’t enumerate or quantify echoes of every kind: I’m only listing places where the texts directly quote older texts, or where they explicitly state that they’re citing an older text.

An illustration, to show why we can’t catalogue or count inexplicit echoes. In Luke 2.22–24, Joseph and Mary present Jesus at the Temple. The narrator makes it sound like this is a well established unified custom, but it’s nothing of the kind. In fact it’s a mash-up. The author grabs three unrelated scriptural passages, and presses the purée button. The sources are: Hannah dedicating Samuel (1 Samuel 1.22–28); the offering of two turtle-doves as part of a ritual purification (Leviticus 12.2–8); and the consecration of first-born animals and children (Exodus 13.11–14). Is this one citation or three citations? None, of course: the passage doesn’t mention any of these three passages, it just echoes them.

That’s why we’re not counting echoes. The list below is just the explicit citations.

Key:

• LXX : Septuagint
• Bold type : passage with direct quotation or explicit citation
• ^Q : quotation, either verbatim or approximate
• ^Q_M : misquotation with major divergence from source
• ^C : citation of named source
• ^C_M : misattributed citation — a source is named, but incorrectly
• ^G : generic citation of unnamed ‘prophet’ or ‘writings’
• small italics : no LXX citation/quotation, but parallel to another gospel which does have a citation
• MT : Masoretic Text (Hebrew Bible), where different from LXX

LXX passage cited	Matthew	Mark	Luke	John
Isaiah 7.14	1.22–23QG		2.1–7
Micah 5.1 + 2 Kingdoms 5.2 (MT 2 Samuel 5.2)	2.5–6QMG		2.8–20
Hosea 11.1	2.15QG
?Judges 16.17 ?Isaiah 4.3	2.23G		2.39–40
Exodus 13.12 (≈ Exodus 13.2)			2.23G (2.24 goes on to allude to Lev 5.11, 12.8)
Malachi 3.1	11.10QG	1.2QCM (joined to following)	7.27QG
Isaiah 40.3–5	3.3QC	1.3QC	3.4–6QC
Deuteronomy 8.3	4.4QG		4.4QG
Psalm 90.11–12 (MT 91.11–12)	4.5–6QG		4.9–11QG
Deuteronomy 6.16	4.7QG		4.12QG
Deuteronomy 6.13	4.10QG		4.8QG
Isaiah 8.23–9.1	4.13–16QC	1.14	4.14	4.43
Isaiah 61.1 + 58.6 + 61.2			4.17–21QC
Isaiah 53.4	8.17QC (MT only)	1.32–34	4.40–41
Isaiah 42.1–4	12.17–21QC	3.7–12	6.17–19
‘it is written’ (≈ MT Psalm 78.24, Exodus 16.4–5)				6.31G
Isaiah 54.13				6.45QG
Deuteronomy 19.15				6.45QG
Isaiah 6.9–10	13.14–15QC	4.10–12Q		12.39–41QC
Psalm 77.2 (MT 78.2)	13.35QG	4.34
Isaiah 29.13		7.6–7QC (LXX only)
‘as it is written’	11.14	9.13G
unnamed ‘prophets’	20.17–19	10.32–34	18.31G
Isaiah 53.12		15.28 (spurious verse)	22.37G
Isaiah 62.11 + Zechariah 9.9	21.4–5QMG (LXX only)	11.1–7	19.29–35	12.14–15QG
Psalm of Solomon 7.1 (≈ Psalm 34.19, 68.5 / MT 35.19, 69.5)				15.24–25QG
Isaiah 56.7 + Jeremiah 7.11	21.13QG	11.17QG	19.46QG
Psalm 8.3	21.16QG (LXX only)
unnamed ‘writings’ (e.g. Enoch 104.4–6)	22.29–30G
Daniel 9.27 and/or 1 Maccabees 1.54	24.15–16QC (Daniel)	13.14Q	21.20
Hosea 9.7 (cf. Isaiah 63.4, Jeremiah 5.29)			21.22QG
Zechariah 13.7	26.31QMG	14.27QMG
unnamed ‘writings’	26.56G	14.49G	22.47–53	18.2–12
Zechariah 11.12–13	27.5–10QCM
Psalm 68.22 (MT 69.21)	27.34Q (one word)	15.23		19.28–29QG (one word)
Psalm 21.2 / MT 22.1	27.46Q (Aramaic only)	15.34Q (Aramaic only)
Psalm 30.6 (MT 31.5)	27.50	15.37	23.46Q (LXX only)	19.30
unnamed prophets, psalms			24.44G
?Hosea 6.2			24.46–47QG

Notes

1. Matthew cites scripture and names his sources more than the other gospels. There are 25 quotations/citations in Matthew, almost twice as many as in the runner-up, Luke. Perhaps that’s one reason why Papias thought Matthew was originally written in Hebrew (it wasn’t), and why Matthew was imagined in antiquity to be the earliest of the canonical gospels (it isn’t). The nativity story is especially densely packed with quotations; also notable is the string of unattributed quotations from Psalm 90 and Deuteronomy 6–8 in Satan’s testing of Jesus in Matthew 4 (largely copied in Luke 4).

2. Isaiah is the only scriptural source regularly mentioned by name. Isaiah is cited by name 6× in Matthew, 2× Mark, 2× Luke, 1× John. Two other sources get isolated citations: (1) A reference to Daniel in Matthew 24.15; but the text is a little odd (see the next point). (2) Two references to Jeremiah in Matthew 2.17 and 27.9; of these, the latter is a misattribution — the quotation is actually Zechariah.

3. The citation of Daniel in Matthew 24.15. The source for this quotation would be ambiguous, if not for the explicit citation of Daniel. The form used, βδέλυγμα τῆς ἐρημώσεως (‘sacrilege of desolation’), matches 1 Maccabees 1.54; Daniel uses the plural ἐρημώσεων (‘sacrilege of desolations’). And it turns out textual support for the citation of Daniel is less consistent than we might prefer. The modern text διὰ Δανιὴλ τοῦ προφήτου is the reading in the codex Vaticanus (δανιηλ) and the codex Bezae (δανιηλου), and the Latin version of Origen’s Commentary on Matthew includes the Daniel reference. However, the Sinaiticus instead has διὰ ιηλ τοῦ προφήτου, ‘through the prophet (of) Israel’, a fact omitted in the Nestle-Aland apparatus: δαν appears as a supplement above the line in a second hand. The part of Matthew 24.15 that cites Daniel is not extant in any ancient papyri, the codex Alexandrinus, or the Ephrem palimpsest.

Some factors make me hesitate over the Daniel attribution: (1) ιηλ in the Sinaiticus; (2) the fact that the wording is that of 1 Maccabees; (3) the fact that the gospels do not usually cite sources other than Isaiah by name.

LXX Daniel’s plural ἐρημώσεων is presumably intended to convery the MT reading šiqqūṣîm mešōmêm, a plural noun with a singular participle. The Sinaiticus reading ιηλ would most normally be read as a nomen sacrum for Ἰσραήλ (‘the prophet (of) Israel’). I wonder if it could be meant to invoke the anonymous author of 1 Maccabees. The Hebrew title of 1 Maccabees is not certainly known; Eusebius gives it as Σαρβηθ Σαβαναιελ (Ecclesiastical history 6.25).

By itself this isn’t enough to overturn the combined testimony of the Vaticanus and the Bezae. At the same time, the Sinaiticus reading ιηλ doesn’t look like a mistake. There’s something odd going on behind the scenes here.

4. Spliced quotations. In some quotations the gospels combine passages from multiple sources as if they’re a single quotation.

Sources (LXX, my translation)	Gospel (NRSVue)
Micah 5.1 (MT Micah 5.2) And you, Bethlehem, house of Ephratha: you are the least that is to be among the throngs of Judah; from you shall come forth for me someone who is to be ruler in Israel: their exoduses are of old, from ancient days. 2 Kingdoms 5.2 (MT 2 Samuel 5.2) And once upon a time, when Saul was king over us, you were the one who led Israel out and led in Israel, and the Lord said to you, ‘You shall shepherd my people Israel, and you are to be leader over Israel.’	Matthew 2.5–6 5 They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea, for so it has been written by the prophet: 6 “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.”’
Malachi 3.1 See, I am sending out my messenger, and he will attend to a way ahead of me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly arrive in his temple, and the messenger of the covenant whom you desire. See, he is coming, says the Lord Almighty. Isaiah 40.3 A voice of one crying out in the desert: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight the paths of our God.’	Mark 1.2–3 As it is written in the prophet Isaiah, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way, 3 the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight” ’...
Isaiah 62.11 For see, the Lord made it to be heard to the end of the earth: ‘Tell the daughter of Sion, Look, the saviour is at hand for you. He has received his payment, and his work is in his past.’ Zechariah 9.9 Rejoice greatly, daughter of Sion! Announce it, daughter of Jerusalem! Look, your king is coming to you, just and rescuing, humble and mounted on a donkey and on a young colt.	Matthew 21.4–5 This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet: 5 ‘Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’

Each of these is an egregious misquotation, even aside from the splicing. Matthew 2.6 adds in a ‘not’ that reverses the meaning of Micah 5.1 (you are by no means the least); Mark 1.2 changes the identity of the one coming behind the messenger (I am sending my messenger ahead of you).

The third is the most notorious. The Septuagint has an erroneous ‘and’ added into the text, with the result that Matthew has Jesus riding on two animals simultaneously. The Hebrew text reads:

Behold: your king is coming to you, a just savior is he, humble, and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Zechariah 9.9 (NABRE)

In the Hebrew, the ‘donkey’ and the ‘colt’ are a case of parallelism: one animal is mentioned twice, phrased differently. This is a standard Hebrew poetic device. But the Septuagint (and so also Matthew) misunderstands that, and treats them as two separate animals.

Mark 11.1–7, Luke 19.29–35, and John 12.12–15 have Jesus riding a single colt (and John quotes a version of Zechariah 9.9, more correctly than Matthew’s version), so the oddity here comes solely from the Greek text used by Matthew. (The Marcionic Evangelion omitted this episode altogether.)

5. Quotations of Isaiah 40.3. This is one of the handful of scriptural passages that get quoted in all three synoptic gospels. As noted above, Mark joins it to Malachi 3.1 and attributes the whole thing to Isaiah. Matthew and Luke do use the Malachi quotation as well, but in completely separate contexts: evidently they corrected Mark, aware that the attribution to Isaiah was wrong.

(For reference, the scriptural passages that do appear in all three synoptics are: Malachi 3.1; Isaiah 40.3; Isaiah 56.7 + Jeremiah 7.11. Also notable is Isaiah 6.9–10, which appears in Mark, Matthew and John, but not Luke.)

Luke goes further, though, and provides a longer Isaiah quotation. Here’s how it lines up against the LXX text that we have today; the highlighting indicates places where the match is exact.

LXX Isaiah 40.3–5	Luke 3.4–6
3 φωνὴ βοῶντος ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ ῾Ετοιμάσατε τὴν ὁδὸν κυρίου, εὐθείας ποιεῖτε τὰς τρίβους τοῦ θεοῦ ἡμῶν·	4 ὡς γέγραπται ἐν βίβλῳ λόγων Ἡσαΐου τοῦ προφήτου· φωνὴ βοῶντος ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ ἑτοιμάσατε τὴν ὁδὸν κυρίου, εὐθείας ποιεῖτε τὰς τρίβους αὐτοῦ.
4 πᾶσα φάραγξ πληρωθήσεται καὶ πᾶν ὄρος καὶ βουνὸς ταπεινωθήσεται, καὶ ἔσται πάντα τὰ σκολιὰ εἰς εὐθεῖαν καὶ ἡ τραχεῖα εἰς πεδία·	5 πᾶσα φάραγξ πληρωθήσεται καὶ πᾶν ὄρος καὶ βουνὸς ταπεινωθήσεται· καὶ ἔσται τὰ σκολιὰ εἰς εὐθείαν καὶ αἱ τραχεῖαι εἰς ὁδοὺς λείας·
5 καὶ ὀφθήσεται ἡ δόξα κυρίου, καὶ ὄψεται πᾶσα σὰρξ τὸ σωτήριον τοῦ θεοῦ· ὅτι κύριος ἐλάλησεν.	6 καὶ ὄψεται πᾶσα σὰρξ τὸ σωτήριον τοῦ θεοῦ.

Notably, Luke 3.4 preserves αὐτοῦ from Mark 1.3: that word doesn’t appear in our LXX text of Isaiah 40.3.

6. Luke and the Evangelion. How many of Luke’s citations appeared in the Evangelion, the gospel that appeared in Marcion’s canon?

Background: the Evangelion and Luke are variant recensions of one another. The Evangelion was lost in antiquity, but is moderately well-attested because of its inclusion in Marcion’s canon. Marcion made the earliest effort to compile a canon of Christian texts in the early second century, and included ten Pauline letters and the Evangelion. Later anti-Marcionite writers claimed polemically that Marcion concocted the Evangelion by trimming bits out of Luke. However, we now know that Marcion compiled the texts, he didn’t write them; and in recent years it’s become standard to conclude that it was exactly the other way round — the Evangelion was the older recension (but not necessarily the ‘original’), and Luke is a later expanded form.

Remarkably, we know that most of Luke’s quotations/citations were not present in the Evangelion. Here’s a tabulation, primarily based on the work of Dieter T. Roth (2015: 49–78): this means some inconsistency with other recent work on the Evangelion, but Roth’s presentation of the evidence is by far the clearest currently available.

Luke	Source	Present in Evangelion?	Testimony
2.23	Exod 13.12	not present	Tertullian, Epiphanius, Origen
3.4–6	Isa 40.3–5	probably not present	Tertullian, Epiphanius
4.4, 4.8, 4.9–11, 4.12	Deut 8.3, 6.13; Ps 90.11–12; Deut 6.16	not present	Tertullian
4.17–21	Isa 61.1 + 58.6 + 61.2	unknown
7.27	Mal 3.1	present	Tertullian, Epiphanius, Adamantius Dialogue
18.31	(generic)	not present	Tertullian, Epiphanius
19.46	Isa 56.7 + Jer 7.11	not present	Tertullian, Epiphanius
21.22	Hos 9.7	not present	Tertullian, Epiphanius
22.37	Isa 62.11 + Zech 9.9	not present	Tertullian, Epiphanius
23.46	Ps 30.6	present	Tertullian, Epiphanius
24.44	generic	unknown
24.46–47	Hos 6.2	46 unknown, 47 present	Tertullian

A couple of notes on this tabulation:

• 3.4–6: see Roth 2015: 76 n. 69; Klinghardt 2021: 519–520. Roth thinks Tertullian’s comments on John the Baptist’s arrival, Against Marcion 4.11.4, implies the absence of the Johannine narrative in Luke 3; Klinghardt thinks Epiphanius’ statement, Panarion 42.11.4–6, that the genealogy and the baptism were absent implies the absence of the whole of Luke 3.1b onwards. A given scholar’s verdict on this point is likely to be linked to their view on whether the Evangelion was pre-Mark or post-Mark. If it were post-Mark, and 3.4–6 were absent, then we would have to suppose that the Evangelion copied Mark but excised the quotation, then later on Luke restored it. Conversely, my opinion is that the timeline Evangelion > Mark > Luke involves some crazy textual acrobatics; then again, no one has to take my opinion seriously.
• 22.37: it is striking that, although Luke 22.37 was definitely not present in the Evangelion, it was considered important enough to copy it and interpolate it into the text of Mark (the spurious verse Mark 15.28).

7. Matthew and John. Some of John’s citations/quotations are striking for the fact that they have counterparts in Matthew: Mt 13.14–15 ≈ Jn 12.39–41 (both adding an explicit citation not present in Mark); Mt 21.4–5 ≈ Jn 12.14–15; Mt 27.34 ≈ Jn. 19.28–29 (both quoting just a single word). I find this supports the case that John knew Matthew.

Matthew and John are uneven in how faithfully they reproduce the older texts.

• Matthew 13.14–15 ≈ John 12.39–41. Matthew quotes the Septuagint text very exactly; John has only a few keywords in common. Both of them explicitly cite Isaiah. Mark echoes Isaiah, but only faintly, and doesn’t name the source.
• Matthew 21.4–5 ≈ John 12.14–15. This is the ‘riding on a donkey and a colt’ passage that we looked at above, where the Septuagint and Matthew distort the meaning. Mark, Luke, and John have Jesus riding on a single animal, as in the Hebrew text. Only Matthew and John include a citation of Isaiah alongside the quotation.
• Matthew 27.34 ≈ John 19.28–29. Offering a drink to Jesus on the cross: wine, bile, myrrh, and/or vinegar? This one needs some explanation.

On the last item: Mark, Matthew, and John all take different approaches to interpreting the Septuagint text of the relevant passage. In the Masoretic Text, Psalm 69.21 reads (NABRE):

they gave me poison [rōš] for my food; and for my thirst they gave me vinegar [ḥōmeṣ].

The Septuagint changes this to (my translation):

For food they gave me bile [χολή], and for my thirst they watered me with vinegar [ὄξος].

Devouring bile makes no sense, of course. That’s probably why Mark 15.23 removes ‘bile’ altogether, and replaces it with ‘wine mixed with myrrh’. That disconnects the passage from the Psalm altogether (my catalogue at the start doesn’t count Mark 15.23 as a quotation/citation).

Note. Why does Mark choose myrrh? Difficult to say. Certainly not as a painkiller, as the Oxford Annotated Bible weirdly alleges. In ancient sources wine perfumed with myrrh is normally a symbol of luxuriousness. Another possibility is to do with the medicinal use of myrrh to aid digestion and stimulate bile production.

Matthew abandons Mark’s invention and brings it back a bit closer to the Psalm: ‘wine mixed with bile [χολή]’. Bible translations traditionally obfuscate this by using ‘gall’, an archaic word for bile.

John instead fixes the problem by going back to the other unpleasant foodstuff, the ὄξος ‘vinegar’. Modern translations usually mistranslate this word, probably self-consciously, as ‘sour wine’ (e.g. ESV, NRSV, NASB) or ‘cheap wine’ (GNB; NABRE: ‘common wine’). This is very strange, given that the same translations have no hesitation in translating Psalm 69.21 ḥōmeṣ/ὄξος as ‘vinegar’. A corrected translation of John 19.21 reads:

A jar full of vinegar [ὄξος] was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the vinegar [ὄξος] on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth.

When the chain of mistranslations and paraphrases is already hard to work out, modern Bible translations do us no favours by actively obfuscating the relationships between the texts with inconsistent or archaic translation choices. This is one of those rare cases where the NIV (‘wine vinegar’) is more accurate than the NRSV!

References

• Klinghardt, M. 2021. The oldest gospel and the formation of the canonical gospels (2 vols.). Leuven/Paris/Bristol (CT).
• Roth, D. T. 2015. The text of Marcion’s gospel. Leiden/Boston.

Did Hesiod influence the book of Daniel?

Hesiod has races of gold, silver, bronze, heroes, and iron. The biblical book of Daniel has a statue where gold, silver, bronze, iron, and mixed iron and clay represent kingdoms.

Coincidence? I think not!

Does this mean the author(s) of Daniel knew their Hesiod? Well ... maybe.

The Seleucid king Antiochos IV, r. 175–164 BCE. Left: bust of Antiochos, Altes Museum Berlin; right: tetradrachm of Antiochos. The book of Daniel alludes to the contemporary ruler using Babylonian kings as masked language. (Sources: Wikimedia, Apollo Numismatics)

Daniel 2

King Nebuchadnezzar II has a strange dream, and only the Jewish prophet Daniel can explain it. The setting is the Babylonian Exile, in the distant past, centuries before Daniel was written. The episode is loosely modelled on Joseph and Pharaoh in Genesis 41.

You were looking, O king, and there appeared a great statue. That statue was huge, its brilliance extraordinary; it was standing before you, and its appearance was frightening. The head of that statue was of fine gold, its chest and arms of silver, its midsection and thighs of bronze, its legs of iron, its feet partly of iron and partly of clay.

Daniel 2.31–33 (NRSVue)

Then a stone strikes the statue’s feet, breaking the whole thing, and the stone grows into a mountain that fills the world.

Daniel goes on to explain that the dream predicts the rise and fall of future empires. (‘Future’ for characters in the time of the Exile, that is.) The author doesn’t name names, but they must be something like

1. gold — Babylonian empire (Nebuchadnezzar’s empire)
2. silver — Median dynasty
3. bronze — Achaemenid dynasty
4. iron — Alexander
5. iron and clay — ‘divided kingdom’ of the Ptolemies and Seleucids
6. (stone — independent Judaean kingdom — actual future, from the author’s perspective)

The original audience understood that they were living in the last phase, the ‘iron and clay’ of the divided kingdoms of the Diadochoi, and that the ‘stone’ symbolised a Jewish revolt against Seleucid rule.

Note: date of composition. Daniel consists of several discrete episodes, arranged differently in different recensions, in three languages: Aramaic (2.4–7.28), Hebrew (1.1–2.4, 8.1–12.13), and Greek (all of the above plus three further episodes corresponding to 2.24–90 and 13.1–14.42 in the Roman recension). Chapters 10–12 are securely dated to the Maccabaean revolt against Antiochos IV in the 160s BCE; Daniel scholars tend to infer that the Aramaic episodes are earlier, some time between 323 and 170 BCE. However, different episodes were certainly written at different times. The ‘stone’ destroying the kingdoms of the Diadochoi is certainly programmatic for a Judaean revolt. Therefore, like chapters 10–12, it should be dated to the 160s. For a general overview on the date and setting see Collins 1992; in more detail, essays in Collins and Flint 2001; on the Greek recensions, Munnich 2021; on the relationship between the various recensions, Bledsoe 2015; Portier-Young 2017. Scholarship on the date of the dream episode, specifically, is scarce: the essays in Collins and Flint 2001 tend to treat it as a mere appendage to the ‘four beasts’ episode in chapter 7. Portier-Young’s hypothesis for a possible relationship between versions of Daniel (adapted from Portier-Young 2017: 147).

Nebuchadnezzar’s dream envisages history as a succession of empires. The same conception reappears in several other ancient sources. This includes a roughly contemporary Jewish apocalyptic work, Sibylline oracles 3, a Greek poem usually thought to have been composed in Ptolemaic Egypt in the 2nd century BCE.

Daniel scholars call this a ‘four kingdoms’ scheme. That’s a problematic label, obviously: the dream has a succession of five materials — six, if we include the stone — which the Old Greek recension of Daniel interprets as five kingdoms. The name ‘four kingdoms’ comes from the interpretation in the Aramaic version, which mentions only four empires (2.37–43); the ‘four beasts = four kingdoms’ prophecy in Daniel 7; and a ‘four trees = four kingdoms’ prophecy in a text found at Qumran.

Elsewhere the number ‘four’ isn’t so important. I mentioned the Old Greek version, which has five kingdoms. Sibylline oracles 4, a Christian apocalyptic poem, adds the Romans as a fifth empire. Some ancient Christian interpreters of Daniel have a succession of kings, rather than empires: Tertullian describes a direct line of succession from the Achaemenid king Darius II to the Roman emperor Vespasian.

None of these parallels has the ‘succession of metals’ motif that we see in Nebuchadnezzar’s dream. For that, we need to look elsewhere.

Note. Succession of empires: Sibylline oracles 3.156–161. ‘Four kingdoms’ text: 4Q552, 4Q553, 4Q553a. Five kingdoms: Sibylline oracles 4.49–151. Tertullian’s succession of kings: Against the Jews 8. On the ‘four kingdoms’ trope see generally the essays in Perrin and Stuckenbruck 2021; on the five kingdoms in the Old Greek version of Daniel 2, see Young 2021. On Sibylline oracles 3, see Bacchi 2020: 13–20.

The setting of Daniel: reconstruction of the Ishtar Gate, Babylon, Iraq. The original (now in the Pergamonmuseum, Berlin) was restored and renovated by the historical Nebuchadnezzar in the 6th century BCE. Antipatros of Sidon counted Nebuchadnezzar’s wall among the ‘seven wonders’ of the world (Palatine anthology 9.58, 2nd/1st century BCE). (Source: Wikimedia)

Hesiod and the ‘myth of the races’

One of the oldest surviving Greek poems, the Hesiodic Works and days (ca. 700–650 BCE), lines 106–201, describes earlier races of mortals as a succession of metals. Well, mostly.

1. Race of gold: they lived ‘without cares’ or ‘wretched old age’; death came to them like sleep; the earth gave them food abundantly; they were loved by the gods.
2. Race of silver: benevolent spirits; they spent a hundred years as toddlers, then immediately became elderly; they didn’t worship the gods properly.
3. Race of bronze: strong and violent, with hands growing straight out of their shoulders; bronze weapons and armour; they were wiped out by their own violence.
4. Race of heroes: demigods (hēmitheoi) who fought wars at Thebes and Troy; they now dwell in the isles of the blessed.
5. Race of iron: they have no rest from labour and suffering; this race will come to an end when they have grey hair even at birth, when there is hatred among loved ones, and when there is no justice or respect.

Just like in Daniel, the audience know they are living in the fifth phase. The poem signals it explicitly: ‘would that I were not among the fifth men ... now is a race of iron’ (174–176). Hesiod comes across as a grouchy geezer who would say ‘get off my lawn’ as soon as look at you.

The myth of the races was influential. Successions of metallic races appear in later Greco-Roman literature in the Hellenistic poet Aratos (Phainomena 100–136, 3rd century BCE) and the Roman poet Ovid (Metamorphoses 1.89–150, 1st century BCE), with several briefer and looser imitations in other ancient authors.

The Works and days was extremely popular throughout antiquity — much more than the Hesiodic Theogony (though not as popular as the Catalogue). Aratos borrows from it heavily: not just the myth of the races, but also the concept of including a collection of lore about weather and astronomy.

So it’s perfectly feasible that the Works and days could have influenced another Hellenistic-era work, a 2nd century BCE book written in Judaea. There are catches, to be sure. The episode in Daniel is in Aramaic, not Greek.

That isn’t necessarily a problem. Many Judaeans under Seleucid rule knew Greek, and there was a thriving Greek-language Jewish literary tradition in Alexandria by the 200s BCE. More important is: are there any competing theories? — any other possible sources of influence?

Note. On the Hesiodic ‘myth of the races’ see West 1978: 172–177; Ercolani 2010: 160–166. For surveys of other Greco-Roman ‘myths of the races’ see Most 1997; Van Noorden 2015. All of these mention Daniel 2 as a comparandum.

The ‘succession of metals’ trope

The ‘succession of metals’ trope didn’t originate with Hesiod. For one thing, the race of ‘heroes’ has always stuck out like a sore thumb, wedged in among the metals. Was there an older form of the trope without that interruption?

The Works and days has many literary influences from Near Eastern poetry. It is in large part a Greek take on the genre of wisdom literature, associated with Mesopotamia, the Levant, and Anatolia. And the ‘myth of the races’ is an import too. M. L. West documents the parallels in his discussions of Anatolian and Near Eastern influences on early Greek literature (1978: 172–177; 1997: 312–319).

One bare-bones precursor appears in Babylonian god lists of the 2nd millennium BCE. The An = Anum god list (ca. 13th century BCE?) equates gods with metals:

silver = Anu
gold = Enlil
copper = Ea
tin = Ninane(?)

An = Anum, appendix F.3–6 Lambert-Winters

Note. Translation by Livingstone 1986: 182, adapted. Livingstone reads the name in the fourth line as ‘Ninazal’, but the interpretation is unclear (Lambert and Winters 2023: 338–339).

A longer list is published by Alasdair Livingstone, which also includes lead, other minerals, and plants (1986: 175–187). It seems the idea is to link the most important metals to the most important gods, and then fill in other gods by analogy, as Livingstone points out.

Ea and attendant gods: Sumerian cylinder seal, black serpentine, 32.5 x 19.5 mm, 2340–2150 BCE, and impression. (Source: Morgan Library and Museum)

Bare-bones, as I said. These lists don’t include the associated descriptions that we see in Hesiod, and they aren’t encapsulated — there’s no canon of four or five materials.

Here’s one that goes a bit deeper. First, look at Hesiod’s silver race —

In both body and mind [the silver race] were unlike the gold.
For a hundred years a child would be raised
by his dear mother, a great big toddler playing in the house ...

Works and days 129–131 (my translation)

— and then compare this snippet from the opening of the Lagash king list (18th century BCE?):

In those days a child spent a hundred years in [?nappies?],
spent a hundred years in his rearing.
He was not made to perform (any) assigned tasks.
He was small, he was feeble/stupid, he was [with] his mother.

(translation by J. A. Black, quoted by West 1997: 316)

A much later parallel — related more closely to Daniel and the Qumran ‘four kingdoms’ text than to Hesiod — is in a Zoroastrian apocalyptic work, the Bahman yašt (ca. 6th cent. CE). Zoroaster dreams of a tree, and Ahura Mazda explains it as a vision of a succession of future kingdoms:

That root of a tree which thou sawest, and those four branches, are the four periods which will come. That of gold is when I and thou converse, and King Vistâsp shall accept the religion ... And that of silver is the reign of Ardakhshir the Kayân king, and that of steel is the reign of the glorified Khûsrô son of Kêvâd, and that which was mixed with iron is the evil sovereignty of the demons with dishevelled hair of the race of Wrath ...

Bahman yašt 1 (E. W. West 1880: 192–193)

M. L. West also cites some looser parallels in the Indian Laws of Manu and the Mahābhārata.

Hesiod is the earliest source to give a full, encapsulated sequence of metals, but there’s enough to infer that the Hesiodic ‘myth’ of the races is no myth. It’s a literary device. The ‘myth of the races’ isn’t a framework for Greek myth, it’s a motif designed for apocalyptic literature.

The sequence of metals is borrowed from Near Eastern models. So there’s no particular need to imagine that Hesiod influenced the dream episode in Daniel. It’s perfectly possible that Daniel drew on other models that were still floating around the Levant in the 2nd century BCE.

Possible, but not certain. It’s also perfectly possible that the Works and days, a centrepiece of the Greek literary canon, was indeed known in 2nd century Judaea. Jewish people living in Alexandria, at least, could scarcely have avoided classic Greek literature.

The details of how Daniel was compiled is a subject of ongoing research. The most information comes from the Dead Sea scrolls, going back to the 2nd century BCE, not long after some episodes in Daniel were originally written. There are no Greek copies of Daniel among the Dead Sea scrolls. But Greek manuscripts were in circulation: the finds at Qumran Cave 7 consist entirely of Greek manuscripts, including a Hasmonean-era copy of Exodus; Nahal Hever Cave 8 had Greek copies of the minor prophets alongside Hebrew copies of other parts of the Bible. As well as that, the Old Greek recension of Daniel is thought to be early — possibly as early as the late 2nd century BCE.

It isn’t necessary to posit Hesiodic influence on the composition of Daniel 2. The rest of Daniel isn’t exactly bubbling with influence from Greek literature. But it can’t be ruled out either. After all, it isn’t as if we know of any other Aramaic- or Hebrew-language models for the ‘succession of metals’ trope. If there was Greek influence — and it’s a big ‘if’ — we can at least say it’s from Hesiod, not Aratos: Aratos’ version has no iron race.

References

• Bacchi, A. L. 2020. Uncovering Jewish creativity in Book III of the Sibylline oracles. Leiden/Boston.
• Bledsoe, A. M. D. 2015. ‘The relationship of the different editions of Daniel: a history of scholarship.’ Currents in biblical research 13: 175–190. [LMU München]
• Collins, J. J. 1992. ‘Daniel, book of.’ In: Freedman, D. N. (ed.) The Anchor Bible dictionary, vol. 2 (D–G). New York, etc. 29–37. [Internet Archive]
• Collins, J. J.; Flint, P. W. (eds.) 2001. The book of Daniel. Composition and reception, 2 vols. Leiden/Boston/Köln.
• Ercolani, A. 2010. Esiodo. Opere e giorni. Roma.
• Lambert, W. G.; Winters, R. D. 2023. An = Anum and related lists. Tübingen.
• Livingstone, A. 1986. Mystical and mythological explanatory works of Assyrian and Babylonian scholars. Oxford.
• Most, G. W. 1997. ‘Hesiod’s myth of the five (or four or three) races.’ Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 43: 104–127. [JSTOR]
• Munnich, O. 2021. ‘Daniel, Susanna, Bel and the dragon. Old Greek and Theodotion.’ In: Salvesen, A. G.; Law, T. M. (eds.) The Oxford handbook of the Septuagint. Oxford. 291–305.
• Perrin, A.; Stuckenbruck, L. (eds.) 2021. The four kingdoms motif before and beyond the book of Daniel. Leiden/Boston. [JSTOR (open access)]
• Portier-Young, A. 2017. ‘Three books of Daniel: plurality and fluidity among the ancient versions.’ Interpretation: a journal of Bible and theology 7: 143–153. [Academia.edu]
• Van Noorden, H. 2015. Playing Hesiod. The ‘myth of the races’ in classical antiquity. Cambridge.
• West, E. W. 1880. Pahlavi texts, vol. 1. Oxford. [Internet Archive]
• West, M. L. 1978. Hesiod. Works & days. Oxford.
• —— 1997. The east face of Helicon. West Asiatic elements in Greek poetry and myth. Oxford. [Internet Archive]
• Young, I. 2021. ‘Five kingdoms, and talking beasts: some Old Greek variants in relation to Daniel’s four kingdoms.’ In: Perrin and Stuckenbruck 2021: 39–55. [JSTOR (open access)]

The Stoics and the Holy Spirit

Stoicism, the ancient school of philosophy, had some excellent ideas. Here’s their explanation of how sound works.

We hear when the air between the sound-emitter and the listener is struck. Then it emits a wave in a spherical shape which spreads and arrives at the ears, in the same way that water in a tank forms waves in circles when a stone is thrown in.

Diogenes Laertios 7.158

Visualisation of a Stoic vision cone made of pneuma. (AI generated)

This is terrific. It’s practically what you’ll hear in a modern classroom. But some Stoic ideas were ... well, less excellent. Here’s their theory of vision.

We see when the light between the viewer and the object is stretched tight, in a conical shape. ... The tip of the conical shape is located at the eye, and its base in the direction of the thing seen. Information about the observed object is conveyed by the stretched air, similarly to a cane.

Diogenes Laertios 7.158

That is, they thought there are vision cones extending out of our eyes. Modern readers sometimes call them ‘vision rays’. Ancient theories of vision came in two main varieties, ‘extramissive’ and ‘intramissive’: stuff either comes out of your eye or enters it. The Stoics were firmly in the extramissive camp. As you move your eye around, it moves the vision cone, like a hand moving a cane. You sense the other end of the cone the same way that you can sense things at the end of the cane.

The Stoics thought of the vision cone as physical but intangible, like air, or light. It was made of a substance that they called pneuma: literally, ‘breath’.

In philosophical contexts, the custom is to translate pneuma as ‘spirit’.

Pneuma and logos

Among the concepts that the Stoics used to talk about how the universe works are two influential words that don’t translate straightforwardly: pneuma, πνεῦμα, literally ‘breath’; and logos, λόγος, literally ‘word’ or ‘utterance’.

Pneuma is the physical medium for interactions that aren’t tangible. Light, vision cones, life force, and the soul are all made of pneuma. Pneuma is a material that’s perceptible, and physically real, but incorporeal.

The word has a heritage in Greek mystic and natural philosophy. In Orphic religion, pneuma refers to a physical manifestation of fate. Here’s a schema in the Orphic Derveni treatise (5th century BCE), as tabulated by Gábor Betegh (2004: 202):

Mythological name	Zeus	Moira [‘Fate’]
Intellectual aspect	mind (nous)	wisdom (phronesis)
Physical aspect	air (aer)	breath (pneuma)

In later centuries the Stoics adopted similar terminologies, while dropping the ‘mythological’ names. So did Philo of Alexandria, a 1st century Jewish Bible interpreter who was heavily influenced by the Stoics. Nous becomes logos, phronesis becomes sophia, aer gets sidetracked into the theory of the elements, pneuma holds on to its place.

The traditional English translation ‘spirit’ comes from the fact that the Latin for ‘breath’ is spiritus. For Stoic thought, a better English translation would be ‘force’ — force in the modern sense of an energy field, like magnetism, or classical gravity. Here’s a precisely accurate description of what the Stoics meant by pneuma:

It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Star wars (1977)

χρῶ τῷ πνεύματι, ὦ Λουκᾶ. (Star wars, 1977)

The ancients didn’t think of gravity and magnetism in terms of ‘forces’. Aristotle, for example, imagined gravity as an intrinsic property, not an interaction: objects with the ‘heaviness’ property have a natural motion towards the centre of the cosmos.

But if you could go back in time and teach Zeno or Chrysippos about classical gravitational or magnetic fields, they’d definitely treat them as species of pneuma.

Then there’s logos. To the Stoics, logos was the principle that the world is rational and behaves in an intelligible way. Logic and maths work, sex causes pregnancy, stuff falls downwards, the sun moves around the ecliptic. That’s logos. It’s their word for what the Orphics and Plato called the cosmic nous, ‘mind’: a template for the self-consistency of the physical world.

In the Orphic Derveni treatise, ‘mind’ is a primordial creative force. Elementary matter is made to coalesce into tangible objects by the ‘colliding mind’: in Greek, krou- + nous, a retcon for ‘Kronos’. Zeus absorbs the primordial forces — ‘colliding mind’, time, the forces of life and creation — so that they become his personal attributes. As a result he acquires the persona of Protogonos, ‘first born’.

In Philo, logos is a personal attribute of God, just as Orphic nous is an attribute of the Protogonos.

And if it happens that someone is not yet worthy of being called ‘son of God’, let them hasten to adorn themselves with his protogonos logos, the eldest of angels, an archangel as it were. It possesses many names. For it is called ‘beginning’, and ‘name of God’, and logos, and ‘human in image’, and ‘the one that sees Israel’. ... for logos, the eldest, is an image of God.

Philo, On the confusion of tongues 146–147 (my translation)

The piling-up of alternate names is in much the same vein as the Derveni treatise.

Modern interpretations of logos in the Christian New Testament regularly take Philo as their starting point — most notably in John 1.1, where logos is a cosmic primordial force that shapes the tangible world.

In the beginning there was the logos, and the logos was an attribute of God, and the logos was God. This was God’s attribute in the beginning. All things came into existence through it, and nothing that exists came into existence without it.

John 1.1–3 (my translation)

Imagine a translation using Philo’s analogies: ‘In the beginning was divine reason’; ‘In the beginning was the noetic realm of incorporeal Forms’. The text could easily be read that way in the 1st century. It echoes earlier Greek thought too: ‘nothing that exists came into existence without it’ sounds almost like it’s from Parmenides.

But does early Christian thought have more in common with Philo, or with the Stoics? Modern scholars normally opt for Philo. I agree that holds true for Paul’s letters. But in the narrative books of the New Testament, pneuma isn’t just an attribute of God. It pops up in other ways too. There, we’re looking at an adaptation of Stoic language.

New Testament pneuma isn’t supernatural: it’s precisely non-supernatural. It’s an attempt to rationalise the supernatural in naturalistic terms. In the present day, believers sometimes try to rationalise a miraculous healing as a logical medical event; in antiquity, pneuma is exactly the same.

Note. On logos in Philo see Hannah 1999: 77–85; Robertson 2018: 9–28. On reading logos in the New Testament in light of Philo, see Boyarin 2017 (but cast as exclusively Jewish, with no mention of Stoicism). On nous in Plato see especially the Timaios, with discussion by e.g. Menn 1995; Mason 2013. On krou- + nous as Orphic creative force, see Derveni papyrus cols. xiv–xvi (cf. Plato Kratylos 396b), with discussion by Betegh 2004: 185–193.

Pneuma in the Bible

The Hebrew Bible often refers to the rūaḥ or ‘wind’ of God. From around the 3rd century BCE onwards, the Bible used in the Diaspora was in Greek: the Septuagint. And the Septuagint instead talks about God’s pneuma.

כי־כל־עוֹד נשמתי בי ורוח אלוֹה באפי׃

ἦ μὴν ἔτι τῆς πνοῆς μου ἐνούσης πνεῦμα δὲ θεῖον τὸ περιόν μοι ἐν ῥισίν.

... as long as my breath [Hb. nishmā, Gr. pnoë] is in me and the spirit [Hb. rūaḥ, Gr. pneuma] of God is in my nostrils, ...

Job 27.3 (MT, LXX, NRSVue)

Note. πνοή and πνεῦμα could both be translated as ‘breath’, given the right context. Philo, Allegory of the holy laws 1.42, discusses the distinction between them in Genesis 1.2 and 2.7.

So when Hellenistic Jews talked about the ‘wind of God’ in Greek, they were using language that already had a naturalistic sense. The dual senses of pneuma, as the rūaḥ of God and as a Stoic physical ‘force’, could be conflated or distinguished as needed.

Visible pneuma and extramissive vision: ‘there stabbed northward a flame of red, the flicker of a piercing Eye ...’ (Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 1955; still from The Return of the King, 2003)

Pneuma appears frequently in the New Testament. The earliest gospel, Mark, envisages it as a physical substance. You can immerse people in pneuma.

ὁ Ἰωάννης ... ἐκήρυσσεν ... ἐγὼ ἐβάπτισα ὑμᾶς ἐν ὕδατι, αὐτὸς δὲ βαπτίσει ὑμᾶς ἐν πνεύματι ἁγίῳ.

John [the Baptist] ... proclaimed ..., ‘I baptised you with water, but he will baptise you with holy pneuma.’

Mark 1.8 (my translation)

Notice that the Greek doesn’t refer to ‘the’ Holy Spirit — there’s no article. This is an uncountable noun, a substance, not a specified entity.

When Jesus casts out demons, he doesn’t do it by praying: he uses pneuma as a physical instrument.

‘If I cast out demons with Beelzebul, what do your own sons use to cast them out? They will be your judges, then. But if it is with God’s pneuma that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God is already upon you.’

Matthew 12.27–28 (my translation)

The original version of this passage, Mark 3.22–25, doesn’t mention pneuma. The introduction of pneuma makes the statement more physical, more tangible. Luke 11.15–20 makes the imagery more tactile still, writing ‘God’s finger’ instead of ‘God’s pneuma’.

All modern Bibles beg the question in passages like these by personifying pneuma as ‘the (Holy) Spirit’. That choice anticipates the doctrine of the Trinity. It excludes the meanings that the word had when these passages were written.

Occasionally, pneuma is paired with logos. (And notice that pneuma here is emphatically not an attribute of God!)

Once it became evening they brought to [Jesus] many people who were afflicted by demons, and he cast out the pneumata with logos [ἐξέβαλεν τὰ πνεύματα λόγῳ].

Matthew 8.16 (my translation)

The choice of words makes the subtext extremely clear: we’re firmly in Stoic territory. Again, you have to think about what these words meant at the time. A well informed 1st century reader might very well read it like this:

Jesus cast out the intangible physical phenomena by using a noetic template.

You can’t translate this kind of passage neutrally. Because of course these terms aren’t just Stoic terms: pneuma also means rūaḥ, logos also means ‘word’. If you look at Paul’s letters, it’s much harder to see any hint of Stoicism. There, ‘spirit’ usually is going to be the right translation.

Pneuma in Acts

Inspecting every mention of pneuma in the New Testament would be overkill for a short essay like this, but I have checked every occurrence in Acts. Out of the narrative books, Acts mentions pneuma the most — 35 times per 10,000 words, as compared with 10 to 19 in the gospels. (Among Paul’s letters, Galatians and 1 Corinthians both use it over 80 times per 10,000 words.)

Here’s how Acts uses the word pneuma:

• 24× (in 19 distinct episodes) physically, as something visible, a fluid substance (normally without a definite article), or a body part: 1.2, 1.5, 2.2–4, 4.8, 4.25, 6.3–5, 6.10, 7.55, 8.15–19, 9.17, 10.38, 11.16, 11.24, 11.28, 13.9, 13.52, 17.16, 18.25, 20.22.
• 12× (in 11 episodes) as an entity with personhood which speaks: 1.16, 5.32, 8.29, 9.31, 10.19, 11.12, 13.2–4, 15.28, 20.28, 21.11, 28.25.
• 11× ambiguous, with definite article (perhaps as an attribute of God): 1.8, 2.33, 2.38, 4.31, 5.3 (ambiguous syntax), 5.9, 10.44–47, 11.15, 15.8, 16.6, 19.6.
• 9× (in 4 episodes) as a supernatural entity other than God: 5.16, 16.16–18, 19.11–16, 23.8–9.
• 2× in a quotation from the Septuagint: 2.17–18 (≈ Joel 2.28–29).

Pneuma often has the epithet ‘holy’ (ἅγιον πνεῦμα). But even in a text as late as Acts it’s hard to be confident that that isn’t simply meant to be an antithesis to pneumata that are ‘wicked’ or ‘unclean’ (Acts 5.16, 19.11–16). Two passages juxtapose pneuma with logos, both in the third ‘ambiguous’ category (4.31, 16.6).

Some of the passages in the first category — pneuma as a physical substance — clearly envisage it as a fluid:

• a person can be immersed in pneuma (1.5, 11.16)
• a person can be anointed with pneuma (10.38)
• a person can be filled with pneuma (2.4, 4.8, 6.3–5, 7.55, 9.17, 11.24, 13.9, 13.52)
• pneuma can boil (18.25 ζέων τῷ πνεύματι)
• pneuma can be transmitted by physical contact (8.15–19, 19.6)
• pneuma can act as a medium for action at a distance when someone speaks ‘by means of pneuma’ (1.2, 4.25, 11.28)

Modern English-language Bibles can sometimes bring themselves to translate Hebrew rūaḥ as the ‘wind’ of God, instead of ‘Spirit’ with a capital S. And that’s great. It’s reasonable to make an effort with Greek pneuma and logos too!

References

• Betegh, G. 2004. The Derveni papyrus. Cosmology, theology and interpretation. Cambridge.
• Boyarin, D. 2017 [2011]. ‘Logos, a Jewish word. John’s prologue as Midrash.’ In: Levine, A.-J.; Brettler, M. Z. (eds.) The Jewish annotated New Testament, 2nd edition. Oxford. 688–691.
• Hannah, D. D. 1999. Michael and Christ: Michael traditions and angel christology in early Christianity. Tübingen.
• Mason, A. 2013. ‘The nous doctrine in Plato’s thought.’ Apeiron 46: 201–228. [DOI]
• Menn, S. 1995. Plato on God as nous. Carbondale/Edwardsville (IL).
• Robertson, D. 2018. Word and meaning in ancient Alexandria. Theories of language from Philo to Plotinus. Aldershot/Burlington (VT).

The dates of Jesus (conference paper, ASCS 43, Feb. 2022)

A version of the conference paper on ‘The dates of Jesus’ that I presented at ASCS 43, Hobart, Australia, in February 2022. This is based on the material I gathered for a four episode sequence of pieces here on Kiwi Hellenist, in September to November 2021.

The dates of Jesus. 4. Sources

§1–§3. The dates | §4–§5. Calendars and prophecy | §6. Christmas and Easter | §7–§8. Sources

§7. Ancient sources on the dates of Jesus

I originally wanted to compile all the testimonia here, in their original languages and in translation, with commentary. But it’s far too large. I try to keep pieces on this site close to 2000 words: the full version of the compilation is currently pushing 25,000 words.

In future I’ll try to publish the full compilation as a mini-monograph. Here, I’ll give a tabulation of the sources, with links, but without my own translations; and just a few select notes below.

The death of Jesus as depicted in the Rabbula gospels, 586 CE (Florence, Bibl. Medicea Laurenziana Plut.01.56, fol. 13v)

My cut-off point is Epiphanius in the late 300s. There’s no authentic information about Jesus after 250 CE, and by that time the dates for liturgical observances of Jesus’ birth and death were close to being settled. But it would be strange to leave out the Chronography of 354, which is often cited as the earliest direct evidence of Christmas on 25 December. (Actually it’s Hippolytus, over a century earlier.) John Chrysostom needs inclusion because he shows that the Syrian church could celebrate Christmas on 25 December just as the Roman church did, and not necessarily on 6 January as attested in connection with Ephraim of Syria (T38). Epiphanius needs to be here because he’s the earliest adherent of the History of Religions Theory (see Episode 3, §6).

	Source	Source date	Notes
T1	Mark 14.1–2, Matthew 26.1–5, Luke 22.1–2	ca. 70–100	one Passover in Jesus’ ministry (Short Chronology) (see note below)
T2	Matthew 2.1–3, 19–22	ca. 70–90?	birth just before Herod’s death (4 BCE)
T3	John 2.13, 6.4, 11.55	ca. 80–110?	three Passovers in Jesus’ ministry (Long Chronology)
T4	Josephus, Jewish antiquities 17.355–18.2	90s	Quirinius’ census (see note below)
T5	Josephus, Jewish antiquities 18.63–64	90s	testimonium flavianum; death during Tiberius’ reign (14–37 CE), Pilate’s governorship
T6	Luke 1.5, 26–31	ca. 100?	conception during Herod’s reign (4 BCE or earlier)
T7	Luke 2.1–2	ca. 100?	birth at time of Quirinius’ census (6 CE)
T8	Luke 3.1–3, 3.21–23	ca. 100?	baptism in Tiberius 15 (29 CE) at age 30
T9	Luke 23.44–46	ca. 100?	solar eclipse at death (see Episode 1, §3)
T10	Tacitus, Annals 15.44	110s	death during Tiberius’ reign, Pilate’s governorship
T11	Justin Martyr, First apology 13	150s	death during Tiberius’ reign, Pilate’s governorship
T12	Irenaeus, Against heresies 2.20.1, 2.22.1	mid-100s (180s)	Valentinian beliefs: death at age 30; ministry lasting 12 months; numerological symbolism
T13	Irenaeus, Against heresies 1.27.2, 4.6.2, 4.22.2	180s	baptism during Tiberius’ reign, Pilate’s governorship
T14	Irenaeus, Against heresies 2.22.3	180s	argument for Long Chronology; Passovers in John 2.23, 5.1, 11.55 (but not 6.4!)
T15	Irenaeus, Against heresies 2.22.5–6	180s	death aged 40–49
T16	Irenaeus, Against heresies 3.21.3	180s	birth in Augustus 41 (4 BCE?)
T17	Irenaeus, Demonstration 74	180s–190s	death during Claudius’ reign (41–54 CE)
T18	Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 1.21.144–146	ca. 200	count of regnal years; various exact dates for genesis, baptism, and death; discussion of prophecies in Daniel
T19	Tertullian, Against the Jews 8	ca. 200–220	count of regnal years; Daniel’s 70 weeks; birth in Augustus 41; birth 28 years after Cleopatra’s death; death on 25 March, consulship of Gemini
T20	Tertullian, Apologetic 21.19	ca. 200–220	rejects solar eclipse at death
T21	Julius Africanus, Chronographiae T92 Wallraff	220s	birth in AM 5500 = Augustus 42 = 2 BCE
T22	Julius Africanus, Chronographiae F93 Wallraff	220s	rejects solar eclipse at death; parousia in AM 5531 (implying Short Chronology)
T23	Julius Africanus, Chronographiae T93c Wallraff	220s	birth in AM 5500; death in AM 5531 (Africanus T93d: AM 5532)
T24	Hippolytus, paschal table	222–224	genesis on 2 April 2 BCE; death on 25 March 29 CE
T25	Hippolytus, Commentary on Daniel fr. 4	1st half of 200s	birth on 25 Dec., Augustus 42; death on 25 March, Tiberius 18
T26	Origen, Homilies on Luke fr. 108 Rauer	ca. 240s	birth in Augustus 41; baptism in Tiberius 15
T27	Origen, Against Celsus 2.33	ca. 240s	death during Tiberius’ reign; solar eclipse at death
T28	De Pascha computus (pseudo-Cyprian) 18–20	243	birth on 28 March 2 BCE; death in spring 30 CE; sun symbolism; numerological symbolism
T29	Lactantius, Institutiones divinae 4.10.18	304–311	death on 23 March 29 CE (or 31 CE?)
T30	Lactantius, De mortibus persecutorum 2	313–316	death on 23 March, consulship of Gemini
T31	Eusebius, Chronicle, Ol. 194,4 (Latin, Armenian)	ca. 310s–330s	birth in Ol. 194,4 (1 BCE/1 CE)
T32	Eusebius, Chronicle, Ol. 201,4–202,4 (Latin, Armenian)	ca 310s–330s	years of baptism, ministry, and death (different years in Latin and Armenian versions); solar eclipse at death
T33	Chronography of 354, Fasti consulares, 1 CE	336–354	birth on 25 Dec. 1 CE
T34	Chronography of 354, Fasti consulares, 29 CE	336–354	death in 29 CE on 14 Nisan
T35	John Chrysostom, Oration on the birthday of our saviour Jesus Christ 5	2nd half of 300s	birth in December
T36	Epiphanius, Panarion, on the incarnation 1.4–2.7	377	birth in Augustus 42 = Herod 33; baptism in Herod Agrippa 18 (= 31 years after birth); death in Herod Agrippa 20
T37	Epiphanius, Panarion 51.16.1–2	377	birth on 6 Jan.; baptism on 8 Nov.
T38	Epiphanius, Panarion 51.22.3–13	377	Ephraim of Syria’s teaching; birth on 6 Jan., Augustus 42; birth in consulship of Augustus and Silvanus (2 BCE); numerological symbolism; correspondences in pagan festivals

Notes

Short and Long Chronologies

The synoptic gospels mention only one Passover in the course of Jesus’ ministry, namely the one at which he died (T1). In contrast John mentions three (T3). As a result ancient sources adopt either a Short Chronology or a Long Chronology of Jesus’ ministry. As Christian chronography developed, and as the date of Easter was scrutinised more carefully beginning with the Quartodeciman synods in the 190s, the existence of two chronologies caused confusion.

In the Short Chronology Jesus’ death takes place the same year as his baptism: that is, as per Luke 3, Tiberius 15, or the consulship of the Gemini, which was in 29 CE. In this scheme Jesus’ ministry is contained within the period of a year (T19, T22–23, T24, T34, T36). The most common date that emerged was 25 March 29 CE, which had the further benefits of (a) being the traditional day of the equinox, tying in nicely with sun symbolism associated with the Messiah (T28); (b) falling on a Friday, the day before the Sabbath, since the gospels depict Jesus dying on that day of the week.

A variant of the Short Chronology puts the death date at Passover the following year (T28). This belief was most explicitly held by the Valentinians in the 2nd century CE, who held that Jesus’ ministry lasted exactly 12 months, numerologically representing the 12 apostles (T12).

For Christians who preferred the Long Chronology, Jesus’ ministry had to last at least two years: Passover to Passover to Passover (T25, T32, T36), or even longer (Irenaeus: T14–15, T17). As a result Sunday 25 March 31 CE appears as a competing date (T25) — but for Jesus’ resurrection, not his death, since 25 March fell on a Sunday that year. But the situation was confused. Hippolytus put Jesus’ death 30 years after his genesis (T24), which ought to be 29 CE in the chronology he gives; but elsewhere he assigns it to Tiberius 18 (T25), which ought to be 3 years later. Lactantius puts Jesus’ resurrection on 25 March (T29–30), but he assigns it to the year of the consulship of the Gemini: in that year, 29 CE, 25 March fell on a Friday, not a Sunday. In these cases we must be looking at a Long Chronology contaminated with elements of the Short Chronology, or vice versa.

Irenaeus explicitly adheres to an exceptionally Long Chronology. He concocts an argument against the Valentinians to assert that Jesus’ ministry continued well into his 40s (T14–15), and consequently that he died during Claudius’ reign (T17). This argument must have been formulated before the Quartodeciman synods of the 190s, and was roundly ignored in later centuries.

Conversely Clement, a couple of decades later, spurns the Long Chronology altogether, and refuses even to acknowledge John’s three Passovers, instead claiming that Isaiah’s ‘acceptable year’ (Isaiah 61.2; also cited by the Valentinians, T12) was the duration of Jesus’ ministry.

Quirinius’ census

When Archelaus was ousted from his position as ethnarch of Judaea, Syria was extended to include Judaea, and Quirinius was appointed to assay the province’s wealth and sell off Archelaus’ estate. Both Josephus (T4) and Luke (T7) place the census immediately after Quirinius’ appointment (Luke 1.2: αὕτη ἀπογραφὴ πρώτη ἐγένετο ἡγεμονεύοντος τῆς Συρίας Κυρηνίου, ‘This was the census that took place at the very start of Quirinius’ governorship of Syria’). It would be incoherent to imagine Quirinius assaying Archelaus’ property while Archelaus was still in power, so Luke’s phrasing corroborates Josephus’ report that the census was immediately after Archelaus’ departure: that is, in 6 CE.

Luke’s portrayal of the census draws on two precedents:

• A Hebrew model: the first census of the Israelites depicted in Numbers 1.1–4. This model provides the motif of counting people according to their ancestral house, and motivates Joseph's temporary move to Bethlehem.
• A Roman model: Augustus’ censuses of Roman citizens in 28 BCE, 8 BCE, and 14 CE, reported in Res gestae 8. These provide the motif of counting ‘the entire world’, even though virtually no residents of the Roman empire outside Italy were Roman citizens.

Quirinius’ census was not just an assay of property, as Josephus states, but also a head-count of people as in Luke. This is shown by the funerary inscription of Q. Aemilius Secundus, who conducted a census of Apamea at Quirinius’ order (Corpus inscriptionum latinarum iii 6687). However, Luke is badly mistaken in omitting the reign of Archelaus, in imagining that a census of Roman citizens might have included Judaeans, and in imagining that such a census might have followed a model set by the Hebrew Bible.

Hippolytus

Hippolytus needs special comment because (a) his paschal table is unintelligible without explanation, and (b) the reference in his Commentary on Daniel (T25) has at times been thought a mediaeval interpolation. First, the paschal table, here in translation:

In year 1 of emperor (Severus) Alexander’s reign [222 CE], the 14th day of the paschal moon took place on Saturday 13 April, after an intercalary month (embolismos). In future years it will take place as laid out in the table. In past years it took place as shown. The (lenten) fast must be broken when Sunday falls.
em.	13 April	Sat.	Fri. Esdras acc. to Daniel; in the desert	Thu.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.
	2 Apr.	Wed. genesis of Christ	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.
B	21, 22 Mar.	Sun. Hezekiah	Sat.	Fri. Joshua	Thu.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.
em.	9 Apr.	Sat. Josiah	Fri.	Thu.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.
	29 Mar.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.
	18 Mar.	Sun.	Sat. Hezekiah acc. to Daniel; Josiah	Fri.	Thu.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.
B em.	13 Apr.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.	Wed. Joshua acc. to Daniel	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.
	25 Mar.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.
em.	13 Apr.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.	Wed.
	2 Apr.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun. exodus
B	21, 22 Mar.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.
em.	9 Apr.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.	Wed. in the desert
	29 Mar.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.
	18 Mar.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu. Esdras
B em.	5 Apr.	Tue. exodus acc. to Daniel	Mon.	Sun.	Sat.	Fri.	Thu.	Wed.
	25 Mar.	Sat.	Fri. suffering of Christ	Thu.	Wed.	Tue.	Mon.	Sun.

This computus is inscribed on the side of a statue of Hippolytus seated in a chair. It is generally agreed to be based on one of his lost works (the back of the statue gives a list of his writings).

Column 1 indicates leap years in the Julian calendar (‘B’ in my translation), and years where the lunar year, of 12 29½-day months, requires an intercalary lunar month to compensate for the shortfall of 11¼ days each solar year (‘em.’ in my translation). Note that these figures are based on ancient reckoning and are not nearly accurate enough for the purpose of this table. Column 2 purports to give the Julian date of the equinoctial full moon in a 16-year cycle. I say ‘purports’, because moon phases do not in reality follow a 16-year cycle. Columns 3 to 9 indicate the weekday for the date in column 2, in seven cycles of 16 years. Weekday matters for liturgical purposes because the Roman church celebrated Easter on the following Sunday, as the inscription’s header indicates. Hippolytus’ full moon dates are not accurate, but his weekdays are.

222 CE corresponds to the first row, third column. Each year you move down one row, and after 16 years you move to the top of the next column. The end of the 7th column corresponds to the 112th year (= 333 CE), and you return to the beginning of the table.

Hippolytus retrojects his 112-year cycle with earlier iterations running 110 CE to 221 CE, 3 BCE to 109 CE, and so on. The table attaches specific biblical events to equinoctial full moons in earlier iterations. The relevant ones for our purposes are the ones relating to Jesus in the iteration running 3 BCE to 109 CE: ‘genesis of Christ’ on Wednesday 2 April in the second year of the cycle, that is, 2 BCE; and ‘suffering of Christ’ on Friday 25 March in the 32nd year of the cycle, that is, 29 CE.

The other events marked in the table refer to Passovers described in the Hebrew Bible, in Exodus 12, Numbers 9, Joshua 5, and 2 Chronicles 30 and 35; and in the Septuagint in 1 Esdras 1.

The table was compiled between 222 and 224 CE. The 222 CE cut-off is given by the table header, which refers to the start of Severus Alexander’s reign; the 224 CE cut-off is given by the fact that Hippolytus’ full moon dates are only accurate for the years 216 to 224 CE. (For accurate full moon dates see Espenak 2014.)

Next, the Commentary on Daniel fragment. Kellner (1901: 94–95) argued that this must be an interpolation dating to the 9th–10th centuries, on the grounds that (a) the regnal year and consular year quoted in T25 disagree with the year implied by T24; (b) T25 cites multiple era systems and regnal year systems, and this is characteristic of 9th–10th century computistic research, and not possible in a 3rd century writer. Roll agrees, but without close inspection of the evidence (1995: 79-81).

On the second point, Kellner is simply wrong: ancient figures like Julius Africanus and Eusebius clearly illustrate the careful (and erroneous) work done in antiquity on synchronising era and regnal year systems. On the first point, Kellner’s point is undercut by the confusion caused by variation between the Short and Long Chronologies. I mentioned above that Lactantius’ dates for Jesus’ death and resurrection display the same confusion of years; and the dates in T25 reappear in almost identical form in the 5th century Acts of Pilate (prologue), and that means that the error is an ancient one.

In the past I have followed Roll in rejecting T25 as a mediaeval interpolation. But after closer inspection of the evidence I am now persuaded that there is no good reason to see anything spurious about the fragment.

Other topics

Ideally I would like to add notes on the numerological symbolism adopted by the Valentinians, the De Pascha computus, and Ephraim of Syria (T12, T28, T38); Irenaeus’ ultra-Long Chronology; the relationship between the Armenian celebration of Jesus’ birth on 6 January, and the 25 December date used by everyone else; and on the counts of regnal years in Clement and Tertullian (T18, T19), and how they differ from reality. Even without these notes, this episode is running to 3000 words. Just addressing Tertullian’s regnal year count would require a lengthy discussion of textual corruptions.

I hope to publish this material in a more formal venue, so in the meantime I shall just have to say that these themes are important; they need to be dealt with as part of the history of early Christianity; and, in case it needs saying explicitly, they tell us nothing whatsoever about the historical Jesus.

I’ll settle for the main narrative I’ve put forward here. The gospels are the only primary sources that anyone ever used for Jesus’ dates; 1st–2nd century witnesses gave only vague and symbolic dates, until liturgical practices demanded more specific dates because of the Quartodeciman synods of the 190s; the solar eclipse of 29 CE was, for a while, an important tool for pinning down more precise dates; and most of the dating discrepancies that we see from Hippolytus onwards can be explained in terms of numerological symbolism, liturgical practices, and conflation of the Short and Long Chronologies.

§8. References

• Bickerman, E. J. 1980. Chronology of the ancient world, 2nd edition (1st edition 1968). Ithaca (NY).
• Eshel, H. 2005. ‘4Q390, the 490-year prophecy, and the calendrical history.’ In: Boccaccini, G. (ed.) Enoch and Qumran origins. Grand Rapids (MI). 102–110.
• Espenak, F. 2014. ‘Six millennium catalog of phases of the moon. Moon phases from –1999 to +4000 (2000 BCE to 4000 CE).’ Astropixels.com. (Retrieved Oct. 2021)
• Förster, H. 2007. Die Anfänge von Weihnachten und Epiphanias. Eine Anfrage an die Entstehungshypothesen. Tübingen.
• Hijmans, S. E. 2009. Sol. The sun in the art and religions of Rome. Diss. Groningen. [ResearchGate link | Rijksuniversiteit Groningen link]
• Kellner, K. A. H. 1901. Heortologie, oder das Kirchenjahr und die Heiligenfeste in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung. Freiburg. [Internet Archive link]
• Mosshammer, A. A. 2008. The Easter computus and the origins of the Christian era. Oxford.
• Nothaft, C. P. E. 2011. Dating the Passion. The life of Jesus and the emergence of scientific chronography (200–1600). Leiden.
• —— 2012. ‘The origins of the Christmas date: some recent trends in historical research.’ Church History 81: 903–911. [DOI link]
• —— 2013. ‘Early Christian chronology and the origins of the Christmas date. In defense of the “calculation theory”.’ Questions Liturgiques 94: 247–265. [DOI link]
• Olson, K. A. 1999. ‘Eusebius and the testimonium Flavianum.’ Catholic Biblical Quarterly 61: 305–322. [JSTOR link]
• Roll, S. K. 1995. Towards the origins of Christmas. Kampen.
• —— 2000. ‘The origins of Christmas: the state of the question.’ In: Johnson, M. E. (ed.) Between memory and hope. Readings on the liturgical year. Collegeville (MN). 273–290.
• Samuel, A. E. 1972. Greek and Roman chronology. Munich.
• Schmidt, T. C. 2015. ‘Calculating December 25 as the birth of Jesus in Hippolytus’ Canon and Chronicon.’ Vigiliae Christianae 69: 542–563. [JSTOR link]
• Talley, T. J. 1991. The origins of the liturgical year, 2nd edition (1st edition 1986). Collegeville (MN).
• Wallraff, M. 2007. Iulius Africanus. Chronographiae. The extant fragments. Berlin.

§1–§3. The dates | §4–§5. Calendars and prophecy | §6. Christmas and Easter | §7–§8. Sources