Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a magical sorceress named Seraphina. She was known throughout the kingdom for her extraordinary powers and enchanting beauty. However, what truly set her apart was her remarkable dress. The magical sorceress dress was like no other. It was intricately woven with threads made from moonlight and stars, giving it a mesmerizing glow that captivated all who laid eyes upon it. The fabric was soft and silky, making Seraphina feel as if she was floating on a cloud when she wore it.
Significant problem: The earliest evidence of such terminology in the context of Mithraism is from the mid-second century—nearly 100 years after the Gospels were written. In this instance, it is far more likely that Mithraism borrowed from Christian practice.
It s true, for example, that pagan festivals occurred around the time when Christians later celebrated Christmas but the New Testament documents never suggest a date for Jesus s birth. Christianity is also an umbrella term in that there are hundreds of branches of Christianity, including Catholicism, Baptist, Lutheran, Methodist, Greek Orthodox, 7th Day Adventist, Episcopal, Jehovah s Witness, Mormon, Pentecostal, and more.
The fabric was soft and silky, making Seraphina feel as if she was floating on a cloud when she wore it. Adorned with intricate embroideries of mystical creatures, the dress seemed to come alive as Seraphina cast her enchantments. The patterns would shift and change, revealing hidden symbols and powerful spells that only she could understand.
Do the Gospels Borrow from Pagan Myths?
It’s an accusation that’s been around a long time. Even in ancient times, critics of Christianity noticed some parallels between Christian beliefs and pre-Christian myths. In the late second century, a pagan philosopher named Celsus charged, “The Christians have used the myths of Danae and the Melanippe, of the Auge and Antiope in fabricating this story of virgin birth!” In more recent times, skeptical scholars such as Marvin Meyer and Robert Price have claimed close connections between the resurrection of Jesus and the myths of dying and rising deities that marked many pagan myths.
In the simplest possible terms, here’s what these critics contend: The most marvelous claims in the Gospels—a miraculous birth, for example, as well as the idea of a deity who dies and rises again—are paralleled in pagan religions that predate Christianity; therefore, early Christians must have fabricated these miracles based on their knowledge of pre-Christian religions.
To be sure, there are some surface-level similarities between ancient myths and certain events in the Gospels. Long before the first century AD, the myths of Egyptians deities such as Osiris, Adonis, Attis, and Horus included tales of death and rebirth. The Persians venerated Mithras, a deity who (according to some claims) was born of a virgin and who died and then rose from the dead. Sacramental bread and the fruit of the vine make appearances in a few mystery cults as well.
So why should anyone see Jesus as being distinct from the pagan gods? Could it be that the New Testament stories of Jesus represent the fictive myth of an ancient mystery cult that’s survived for 2,000 years? Or is there something different about the accounts of Jesus’s time on earth?
When these claims are compared carefully with the New Testament Gospels, the distinction between Jesus and the supposed pagan parallels becomes quite distinct, for at least two reasons: first, the pagan parallels aren’t as parallel as the proponents claims; and second, many of the supposed parallels confuse later Christian practices with the actual affirmations in the New Testament Gospels
1. The Parallels Aren’t So Parallel
First, it’s important to be aware that most of these supposed pagan parallels aren’t nearly so parallel as the skeptics suppose. When the actual sources behind the myths are closely examined, the supposed parallels have little in common with New Testament narratives.
For example, there are dying and rising gods in some pagan myths—but these deities died and arose each year, certainly not the same pattern as Jesus’s substitutionary once-for-all sacrifice. And the pagan myths of miraculous births are closer to divine impregnation—a mortal woman conceives a child as a result of sexual relations with a god—than to the virgin conception described in Matthew and Luke.
Example: Jesus vs. Mithras
To exemplify how these supposed parallels aren’t nearly as parallel as the critics claim, let’s look at the myth of Mithras, which is often presented as a predecessor to the New Testament.
So what about Mithras’s miraculous birth?
According to some reconstructions of the ancient sources describing the Mithras’s birth, Mithras was born from solid stone, and he got stuck on the way out. Some nearby persons in a field pulled him from the stone, which left a cave behind him. Some skeptics connect this birth to the birth of Jesus in a stable with shepherds arriving soon afterward. A few even refer to Mithras’s birth as a “virgin birth.”
But referring to the rescue of Mithras from stone as a “virgin birth” seems to me a stretch.
I mean, I guess that birth from a rock is sort of a virgin birth. But how can you tell if a rock is a virgin, anyway? And how do rocks lose their virginity? Parallels of this sort are too vague and too dissimilar to support the claim that Christians borrowed their beliefs from pagans of previous generations.
James Tabor, a professor at University of North Carolina, doesn’t believe in the virgin conception of Jesus, and he denies that Jesus rose from the dead. Yet even he is able to see how radically Jesus’s birth in the Gospels differs from any supposed pagan parallels:
When you read the accounts of Mary’s unsuspected pregnancy, what is particularly notable . . . is an underlying tone of realism that runs through the narratives. These seem to be real people, living in real times and places. In contrast the birth stories in Greco-Roman literature have a decidedly legendary flavor to them. For example, in Plutarch’s account of the birth of Alexander the Great, mother Olympias got pregnant from a snake; it was announced by a bolt of lightning that sealed her womb so that her husband Philip could not have sex with her. Granted, both Matthew and Luke include dreams and visions of angels but the core story itself—that of a man who discovers that his bride-to-be is pregnant and knows he is not the father—has a realistic and thoroughly human quality to it. The narrative, despite its miraculous elements, rings true.
Let’s take a quick look at a few of the supposed parallels between Jesus and Mithras:
Supposed parallel: Mithras had 12 followers.
Significant problem: One piece of ancient artwork depicts Mithras surrounded by 12 faces, but there is no evidence these were his “disciples.” In fact, Mithras had only two companions, Aldebaran and Antares.
Supposed parallel: Mithras was identified as a lion and a lamb.
Significant problem: There is no surviving evidence for connecting Mithras to a lamb. Yes, Mithras was identified as a lion. However, that imagery for a royal ruler existed among the Israelites (Gen. 49:9) several centuries prior to the emergence of any Mithraic myth; the New Testament writers were using familiar Jewish imagery when they depicted Jesus as a lion.
Supposed parallel: Mithras initiated a meal in which the terminology of “body and blood” were used.
Significant problem: The earliest evidence of such terminology in the context of Mithraism is from the mid-second century—nearly 100 years after the Gospels were written. In this instance, it is far more likely that Mithraism borrowed from Christian practice.
Supposed parallel: Mithras sacrificed himself for the sake of others.
Significant problem: Mithras is frequently depicted in the act of sacrificing a bull—but Mithras himself never becomes the sacrifice.
Supposed parallel: Mithras rose from the dead on the third day; his followers celebrated his resurrection each year.
Significant problem: There is no surviving evidence from the pre-Christian era for a resurrection of Mithras on the third day. Because of his association with the sun, it’s possible that his followers celebrated a renewal or rebirth each year.
Supposed parallel: The resurrection of Mithras was celebrated on Sunday.
Significant problem: There is no surviving evidence from the pre-Christian era for a celebration of a resurrection on the first day of the week, though the followers of Mithras—and of other sun-related deities—did worship their gods on Sunday. The reason for the emphasis on the first day of the week in the New Testament Gospels was, however, more closely tied to the fact that, in Genesis 1, God’s work of creation began on the first day. The implication was that, through the resurrection of Jesus, God was initiating a new beginning, a re-creation of his world.
2. Claims of Parallels Confuse the NT’s Historical Claims with Later Christian Practices
What’s more, proponents of these parallels consistently conflate later Christian traditions with what’s found in the Gospels. It’s true, for example, that pagan festivals occurred around the time when Christians later celebrated Christmas—but the New Testament documents never suggest a date for Jesus’s birth.
Identifying a date to celebrate Christmas occurred centuries after the time of Jesus; Christians probably arrived at a date near the winter solstice because of an early tradition that Jesus was conceived on the same date that he died, and nine months after Passover landed the birthdate in late December. In any case, since the New Testament makes no claims regarding the date of Jesus’s birth, the celebration of Christmas is irrelevant when it comes to discussing whether the New Testament description of Jesus’s birth is rooted in real historical events.
The same holds true when it comes to connections between pagan fertility festivals and later Easter celebrations. The term “Easter” comes from “Ishtar,” a Sumerian goddess who died, rose, and ascended, and several familiar Easter motifs originated in pagan fertility cults. Yet, except for a King James Version mistranslation in Acts 12:4, no New Testament text even mentions Easter. The pagan roots of later Easter imagery have nothing to do with the historicity of the Gospels.
Likewise, later Christian art incorporated both Egyptian and Mithraic motifs, especially when depicting Jesus and his mother. Yet later depictions of pagan myths in Christian art has nothing to do with whether New Testament events actually occurred. It simply means that Christian artists could be a bit more creative when choosing sources for their inspiration.
What If Pagan Parallels Do Exist?
Let’s suppose for a moment, though, that some patterns present in the life of Jesus could be pinpointed in some previous religion. Would this weaken the historical foundations of the Christian faith?
The real question isn’t, Are there similarities between the New Testament’s descriptions of Jesus and some previous pagan myths? Perhaps there are—although I must admit that every ancient parallel I’ve examined has turned out to be vague and weak when seen in its original context.
Every ancient parallel I’ve examined has turned out to be vague and weak when seen in its original context.
The crucial question is, Did the events described in the New Testament actually occur? The answer doesn’t depend on parallels in pagan practices.
Parallels in other ancient religions neither prove nor disprove the authenticity of the New Testament documents. They simply demonstrate the common expectations of people in the first century AD. Even if some clear parallel did exist between the story of Jesus and previous religious expectations, this wouldn’t warrant the belief that the apostle Paul or the Gospel authors “borrowed” the tenets from other faiths.
It would mean that, when God dropped in on the human race, he chose to reveal himself in ways the people in that particular culture could comprehend. If that’s indeed the case, it would merely mean that the myths of dying gods and miraculous births are rooted in longings that run deeper than human imagination; although the pagan religions twisted and distorted these motifs, they’re rooted in a God-given yearning for redemption through sacrifice that makes the world right and new. C. S. Lewis addressed this possibility:
In the New Testament, the thing really happens. The Dying God really appears—as a historical Person, living in a definite place and time. . . . The old myth of the Dying God . . . comes down from the heaven of legend and imagination to the earth of history. It happens—at a particular date, in a particular place, followed by definable historical consequences. We must not be nervous about “parallels” [in other religions] . . . They ought to be there—it would be a stumbling block if they weren’t.
Not a Borrowed Religion
When it comes to parallels between the New Testament story of Jesus and the myths of pagan gods, the supposed connections aren’t sufficiently parallel to claim that Christian faith is borrowed. Even if some parallels were indisputable, that would merely mean God worked out his plan in a manner that matched the context within which “the Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us” (John 1:18).
So what should you do the next time someone pulls out a pagan parallel?
1. Locate the primary source.
With the rarest of exceptions, the primary sources—that is to say, the actual ancient texts that describe the pagan practices—don’t include any real parallels to the New Testament.
2. Determine whether the supposed parallel precedes or succeeds the New Testament.
Every text in the New Testament was in circulation no later than the late first century AD. If the pagan parallel is from a text written later than the first century AD, the New Testament writers obviously couldn’t have borrowed from it.
3. Determine whether the supposed parallel connects to the New Testament—or to later Christian traditions.
Connections between pagan practices and later patterns in Christian worship or holiday celebrations may be interesting—but these links have nothing to do with whether New Testament accounts of the life of Jesus are historically accurate.
It was said that the dress itself held ancient wisdom and secret knowledge waiting to be unraveled. But it wasn't just the appearance of the dress that was extraordinary. It possessed magical properties that aided Seraphina in her spellcasting. When she wore the dress, her powers became amplified, allowing her to perform feats even the most skilled sorcerers could only dream of. It granted her the ability to control the elements – commanding water to dance, fire to bend to her will, and the earth to tremble with her presence. The magical sorceress dress was not just a symbol of power; it was a symbol of Seraphina's identity. It represented her connection to the mystical world and the responsibility she had to protect and preserve its magic. Wearing the dress made her feel strong, confident, and connected to her true self. Seraphina wore the dress with pride, donning it whenever she needed to channel her magic. People from far and wide would seek her out, drawn to her by the allure of her enchanting attire. They would marvel at the dress's beauty and ask for a glance at its hidden mysteries, hoping to catch a glimpse of the extraordinary power it possessed. But Seraphina knew that the true magic lay within her, not just in the dress she wore. It was her own skills, her own wisdom, and her own connection to the mystical realm that made her a powerful sorceress. The dress was merely a vessel, a conduit through which her powers flowed. As the story goes, Seraphina continued to wear the magical sorceress dress, using its power for the greater good. With each enchantment she cast, each magical creature she summoned, she knew that her dress played a small part in shaping the destiny of the kingdom. And so, the magical sorceress dress became a legend in its own right, forever associated with the name Seraphina. It was a testament to her strength, her beauty, and her unwavering dedication to the magic that resided within her..
Reviews for "Unlocking the Power: The Mystique of a Sorceress Dress"
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