In a way, yes. I'm saying that the claim of Jesus’s resurrection is not just about scientific or historical proof. And part of the fundamental problem with historical proof is its uncertainty. The further back we go, the less certain we are. Our discourse belongs to a different domain of inquiry, one that includes philosophical and existential considerations.
Rather than fixating solely on historical verifiability, I suggest we can more profitably compare the moral and philosophical weight of different traditions—Christianity alongside Buddhism, Confucianism, or Socratic thought, for example. We may even include modern philosophical ideologies, like Existentialism itself. Or modern psychology. Many of the earlier traditions emerged in antiquity, where historical documentation is sparse. Yet we do not and should not dismiss their validity on that basis.
I appreciate this redirection, and I think you’re highlighting something important—namely, that traditions like Christianity, Buddhism, or Confucianism can be compared in terms of their moral, philosophical, and existential contributions. Absolutely. That’s a productive discussion, and one I’m happy to have.
But let’s be clear: this is a different conversation than the one about the resurrection. You began with a historical claim: that Jesus rose from the dead, and that this event was so important that it changed the entire religious and epistemological landscape. That is not a philosophical metaphor. It is a truth claim about something that either happened in real space and time—or it didn’t.
You’re now suggesting we pivot from whether the resurrection is true in the historical or scientific sense to whether Christianity is valuable as a moral or existential framework. That’s fine—but they’re not interchangeable questions. I might agree that Christianity, like Buddhism or Stoicism, offers profound insights into forgiveness, suffering, and meaning. But that doesn’t make it true that someone rose from the dead, nor that belief in that resurrection determines our eternal fate.
Historical uncertainty, as you mention, is always a challenge. But the resurrection is unique because it makes a singular, supernatural claim with enormous consequences—and asks us to believe it not metaphorically, but literally. We’re not being asked to meditate on death and rebirth in a Buddhist sense. We’re being asked to believe that a dead man walked again, physically, in history. And for that, existential resonance isn’t enough. The question is not, “Does this tradition help us make meaning?” The question is, “Did this actually happen?”
If Christianity were offered purely as a philosophy—like Stoicism or Confucianism—then we could assess it purely on moral and existential grounds. But that’s not what it claims. It claims to be founded on a historical miracle—and then builds an entire salvation framework on top of that miracle. That’s why historical scrutiny matters.
So yes, let’s compare traditions. Let’s talk about love, suffering, identity, and the human condition. But let’s not pretend that Christianity is just another moral philosophy when at its core it asks us to accept a physical resurrection as the linchpin of salvation. If we’re going to treat it that way, then it has to meet the standards that all such claims must face: evidence, coherence, and testability. Otherwise, we’ve abandoned truth and settled for comfort. And that’s not what philosophy—ancient or modern—should ever ask us to do.
You mention the problem of circular testimony. That’s fair, but it's also worth noting that the New Testament includes figures like doubting Thomas who initially doubted, suggesting that skepticism was present from the beginning. Moreover, if someone truly witnessed the resurrection, wouldn’t that experience almost inevitably convert them? In that sense, any evidence of the resurrection would be by necessity internal to the movement.
But the heart of my argument is this: even if we could prove beyond all doubt that Jesus rose from the dead, would that compel our allegiance? Suppose the risen Christ asked us to do something we know to be wrong, like kill someone — would we comply simply because of the established miracle? Surely our concern here is not just on the event but on the character and teachings of the one who is risen.
You raise an important point—and a thoughtful one. The idea that even a verified resurrection wouldn’t automatically justify allegiance, especially if the risen figure commanded something immoral, is a serious and welcome challenge. You’re absolutely right: miracle does not equal moral authority. A resurrection might prove power, but not virtue. And you’re right to say that the moral content of Jesus’ teachings must be part of the assessment, not just the fact of the resurrection.
But that moral question presupposes we’ve established the event—and that’s precisely the sticking point.
The problem is not that witnesses of a resurrection would believe in it. That’s expected. The problem is that we have no way of independently verifying that they were truly witnesses in the first place. The Gospel authors do not write as disinterested third-party chroniclers. They write as believers, decades after the fact, based on oral traditions, theological agendas, and the needs of early Christian communities. Even the story of “doubting Thomas” is not an independent attestation of skepticism; it’s a literary device to address future readers’ doubts—and ends with Jesus saying, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” In other words, it invites faith without evidence.
Now, as for the deeper philosophical question you raise—if Jesus rose from the dead and asked us to commit evil, should we obey?—I completely agree: no. A miracle doesn’t override moral reasoning. In fact, if a deity demanded something we find immoral, we should question whether that deity is good—not redefine goodness to suit the deity. This is precisely why many reject divine command theory, which tries to root morality in God’s will rather than in principles we can rationally evaluate.
So yes, belief in resurrection—even if true—does not demand submission. But that just further illustrates why the moral beauty of Jesus’ teachings must be assessed independently of any supernatural claim. And here’s the irony: if the moral value of the message stands on its own, then the resurrection becomes unnecessary to validate it. And if the morality doesn’t hold up under scrutiny, then no amount of miracle could redeem it.
So in either case, the miracle isn’t the foundation—it’s the claim that demands the most scrutiny. And as of now, the only evidence for that miracle is internal testimony written decades later by committed believers. That’s not enough to ground belief in a supernatural event—especially when the consequences of belief are framed as eternal and exclusive.
So your shift in focus—from event to ethics—is a valuable one. But we can’t let it bypass the threshold issue: whether the event happened at all. And if it didn’t, then we’re not talking about divine authority—we’re just talking about stories. And stories, however moving, are not facts.
You suggest that if Christianity is merely a resonant story, then it belongs in the category of myth. But I would distinguish between stories that originate as myths (like Odysseus or Ramayana) and historical lives that acquire mythic resonance over time. I believe Jesus was a historical figure—like Buddha or Socrates—and that his mythologization happened later.
That’s a helpful clarification—and I agree with the distinction you’re drawing. There’s a real difference between stories that originate as outright myth (like Odysseus or Rama, who were never assumed to be fully historical figures) and historical individuals like Jesus, Socrates, or the Buddha whose lives became mythologized after the fact.
I also agree that Jesus was very likely a historical figure. That’s the consensus view among historians: that there was a Jewish preacher named Yeshua who was crucified under Roman authority and who inspired a movement. The real question isn’t whether Jesus existed—it’s what can reliably be known about him, and whether the mythic claims that developed afterward are grounded in anything more than belief.
In that sense, your distinction—between mythic origins and mythic elevation—is exactly the reason scrutiny is so important. Because if the resurrection, the miracles, the divine titles, and the cosmic mission of Jesus are later theological constructions layered onto a historical figure, then Christianity isn’t just “a resonant story”—it becomes a belief system built on mythologized claims presented as literal truth. And that distinction matters, especially when those claims are used to justify exclusive truth, moral authority, or eternal consequences.
Socrates was also mythologized—just look at how Plato depicts him. But we don’t build systems of salvation around whether he actually spoke to his daimonion or stood still in the snow. The Buddha’s story was shaped over centuries, but most Buddhists treat the supernatural aspects symbolically, not dogmatically. With Christianity, however, the resurrection isn’t presented as a later embellishment or a metaphor for inner awakening—it’s positioned as the core event upon which all meaning, authority, and salvation rest.
So if you’re saying Jesus was a historical person whose story gained mythic resonance, I’m with you. But once the mythic layers are treated as literal truth—especially the resurrection, divine sonship, and eternal consequence—they move out of the literary or philosophical domain and into the realm of historical and metaphysical claims. And it’s there that faith must meet evidence.
We can—and should—appreciate the moral and symbolic power of Jesus’ story. But when belief in its literal truth becomes a condition for eternal significance, we have to ask: which parts are history, and which parts are theology? Because if we can’t separate the man from the myth, then we can’t honestly say where meaning ends and dogma begins.
When I speak of something “ringing true,” I do not mean that emotional resonance substitutes for evidence. I mean that truth must also be discerned existentially—through the coherence, depth, and moral clarity of the teaching. That, too, is a kind of truth, perhaps even, a more important truth.
Thanks for clarifying—it’s an important distinction, and I appreciate that you’re not suggesting emotional resonance alone should settle the question. You’re pointing to something deeper: the idea that truth can be discerned not just through empirical data, but through existential coherence—through what speaks to our moral intuitions, lived experience, and inner sense of what is right and meaningful.
And I agree—there is such a thing as existential or moral truth. It’s how we evaluate the richness of a philosophy, the integrity of a worldview, the inner logic of a way of life. That kind of truth matters deeply. It helps us decide what kind of people we want to be, what values we uphold, and what kind of meaning we find in the world. So yes, when a teaching “rings true” in that sense, it’s not trivial—it’s powerful.
But here’s where we have to be careful: existential coherence is not the same as factual truth. A story can be morally profound and psychologically insightful, and still be fictional. The Bhagavad Gita, the Tao Te Ching, or even Dostoevsky’s “The Brothers Karamazov” might ring deeply true in their moral and existential weight—but that doesn’t make them records of literal, historical events.
So when Christianity teaches compassion, forgiveness, or nonviolence, we can evaluate those teachings on moral and philosophical grounds. But when it claims a man rose from the dead, defeated death, and offers eternal salvation contingent on belief—that is not a moral truth. It’s a factual one. And factual truth, by its very nature, requires a different standard: evidence, logic, and historical reliability.
You can say, “I find the life and teachings of Jesus profoundly meaningful.” That’s a personal truth, and I won’t dispute it. But when someone says, “He rose from the dead, and therefore you must believe—or you are lost,” that moves beyond moral insight into metaphysical demand. And that claim must face the same scrutiny we apply to any truth about the external world.
So yes, existential truth is real and vital. But when it’s used to underpin literal claims about the structure of reality and the fate of the soul, it can no longer stand on resonance alone. At that point, it has to do more than “ring true.” It has to be true. And that’s a standard we should never lower, no matter how comforting the story.
I agree that emotional appeal alone cannot ground belief. But neither can factual proof, if our concern is with meaning and moral discernment. The real question, in my view, is not merely whether Jesus rose, but whether his life and teaching still speaks to us as something true.
I appreciate the refinement here—and I agree, in part. If the conversation were solely about moral discernment and meaning, then yes, factual proof wouldn’t be enough. A verified event doesn’t automatically carry moral weight. The atomic bomb was a factual achievement, but not a moral one. Meaning and ethics require more than verification; they require reflection, context, and judgment.
But here’s the rub: Christianity doesn’t just offer Jesus as a wise moral teacher whose ideas “speak to us.” It claims that he was crucified, buried, and literally rose from the dead—and that this event is not only central to the faith, but also necessary to affirm in order to be saved. That’s not a metaphor. That’s not optional. That is a concrete, historical, theological claim about something that either happened or didn’t. And if it didn’t happen, Paul himself says, “then your faith is in vain.”
So when you say the real question is whether Jesus’ life and teachings “still speak to us as something true,” I hear that as a valuable philosophical inquiry—but not one that can resolve the truth claims on which Christianity actually hinges. Because even if we decide his teachings are noble, compassionate, or inspiring, that alone doesn’t validate the central Christian claim that he defeated death and offers eternal life to those who believe in him.
That’s the distinction that must be maintained. If you want to treat Jesus like Socrates or the Buddha—someone whose insights enrich our moral imagination—then the question of the resurrection can fade into symbolic territory. But that’s not how the Christian faith presents it. It insists that the resurrection happened, that it mattered, and that belief in it is essential. If that claim is false, then however meaningful the teachings may be, the theological structure collapses.
So yes, ask whether Jesus’ message speaks to the human condition. But if the faith itself claims that a literal, world-altering miracle lies at its heart, then that is the claim that must be tested first. Otherwise, we’re not embracing Christianity—we’re redefining it as something it never claimed to be.
NHC
Hey, who saw that coming?
