One of the subjects that first got me interested in Classics as an undergraduate was ancient historiography. I read early on the annalistic histories of Cornelius Tacitus and the historical biographies of Suetonius Tranquillus (I later completed my Master’s Thesis about Suetonius). Ancient historical prose has a very distinct style, in which the historian often would discuss the methodology of his research, the sources he consulted, the differences between multiple traditions about a person or event, and his judgement as an inquirer into past affairs. History, derived from the Greek ἱστορία (“inquiry”), is not merely a narrative about past people, places, and events, but is an investigation that one conducts in the present in order to formulate a hypothesis of what probably took place in the past, based on the available evidence.
The genre of ancient historical prose has key features that are crucial to understanding which works belong to the category and why they are more trustworthy than sources that do not. It is not enough for a text to simply talk about things that took place in the past, even when the content deals with real people and locations. A historical text must investigate and probe these matters, discussing the research process involved, so that it does not merely provide a story, but a plausible interpretation of what took place.
As someone who studies ancient historical writing in the original Greek and Latin languages, it is clear to me that the Gospels are not historical writing. These texts instead read like ancient prose novels. In all but Luke, we do not hear anything about the the written sources the authors consulted (and even the author of Luke does not name them, explain their contents, or discuss how they are relevant as sources), the authors of the Gospels do not discuss how they learned their stories or what their personal relations are to these events, and even when John claims to have an eyewitness disciple “whom Jesus loved,” the gospel does not even bother to name or identify this mysterious figure (most likely an invention of the author) . Instead, the Gospels provide story-like narratives, where the authors omnisciently narrate everything that occurs rather than engage in any form of critical analysis. Accordingly, the Gospels all fall short from the criteria that can be used to categorize a piece of historical prose.
So what are these criteria? The ways in which the Gospels diverge from and fall short of the historical writing of their time are perhaps too numerous to exhaustively treat here, but I will discuss TEN relevant areas of distinction that are helpful for understanding how historical writing is different.
1. Discussion of Methodology and Sources
Ancient historical works at their beginning are often prefaced with statements from the author about the period they will be investigating, the methodology they will be using, and the types of sources they will be discussing. None of the Gospels, with the exception of a very brief statement at the beginning of Luke, even come close to following this convention. Furthermore, the opening of Luke is hardly substantial enough to consider it of the same caliber as actual historical prose. As scholar Marion Soards (Oxford Annotated Bible, pg. 1827) notes, “The initial four verses of the book are a single Greek sentence that forms a highly stylized introductory statement typical of ancient historical writings … After this distinctive preface, however, the narrative shifts into a style of Greek reminiscent of the Septuagint.” While Luke mimics some conventions of historical writing at the beginning, the rest of the narrative reverts into the story telling typical of the other Gospels.
Consider the very sparse information that the author of Luke (1:1) provides about his sources (none of whom are identified in any capacity):
“Many have undertaken to draw up an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us.”
Such a statement is not of very much help. We can tell, however, from source analysis that the author of Luke derived a large portion of his material from the Gospel of Mark (another anonymous text even more silent about where it obtained its material). Now contrast this with the introductory discussion of a real historical author, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, in how he lays out the sources that he used for his Roman Antiquities (1.7.1-3):
“Having thus given the reason for my choice of subject, I wish now to say something concerning the sources I used while preparing for my task. For it is possible that those who have already read Hieronymus, Timaeus, Polybius, or any of the other historians whom I just now mentioned as having slurred over their work, since they will not have found in those authors many things mentioned by me, will suspect me of inventing them and will demand to know how I came by the knowledge of these particulars. Lest anyone, therefore, should entertain such an opinion of me, it is best that I should state in advance what narratives and records I have used as sources. I arrived in Italy at the very time that Augustus Caesar put an end to the civil war, in the middle of the one hundred and eighty-seventh Olympiad, and having from that time to this present day, a period of twenty-two years, lived at Rome, learned the language of the Romans and acquainted myself with their writings, I have devoted myself during all that time to matters bearing upon my subject. Some information I received orally from men of the greatest learning, with whom I associated; and the rest I gathered from histories written by the approved Roman authors — Porcius Cato, Fabius Maximus, Valerius Antias, Licinius Macer, the Aelii, Gellii and Calpurnii, and many others of note; with these works, which are like the Greek annalistic accounts, as a basis, I set about the writing of my history.”
This is but a snippet of Dionysius’ extensive introduction about methodology, in which he gives an account of how he came upon his sources, how he learned the relevant languages, names his sources, and even explains why some of his readers will not be familiar with the information in his narrative taken from Roman sources that were less known in the Greek world. The Gospel of Luke does not even come close to this level of historical rigor and the other Gospels are even less substantial.
2. Internally Addressed and Analyzed Contradictions among Traditions
Contradictions among sources are inevitable when undertaking historical analysis, whether the author be Pagan or Christian. For this reason, as I explain in my article about Bible contradictions, such contradictions are not ipso facto a major reason why I am distrustful of the Gospels. Rather, it is the way that the Gospels treat contradictions that makes them less credible.
Consider the well-known contradictions between the traditions of Jesus’ birth in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke . Luke 2 has Jesus’ family travel from their hometown in Nazareth to Bethlehem, because of a census ordered by Caesar Augustus. There is no room at any inn, so Jesus is born in a manger. After waiting the appropriate time required by Jewish law, Jesus’ parents take him to the Jewish Temple, perform the rituals surrounding a male childbirth, and then return to Nazareth. Matthew’s account (chapters 1-2) is very different.
In Matthew, Joseph and Mary are already living in Bethlehem, where Jesus is born in a house. A star appears in the sky that prompts Magi wise men from the East to come to Jerusalem and announce that the King of the Jews has been born. Herod summons the Magi in secret and sends them to Bethlehem, so that they can discover the identity of the child and report back to him. The Magi follow the star, which stops over the house Jesus is in (because a star can stop “over” a specific house). The Magi present gifts to baby Jesus, but then, after being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they return to their own country by another route. When Herod realizes that he has been outwitted by the Magi, he then orders that all of the infant males in Bethlehem be slaughtered (an atrocity that no outside historian corroborates). Joseph is warned by an angel to flee into Egypt in order to escape the slaughter. After Herod’s death, an angel tells Joseph that he can return, but because Archelaus is ruling in Judea, Joseph does not return to his home, but instead withdraws into Galilee and moves to the town of Nazareth.
Apologists can twist themselves in pretzels trying to reconcile these contradictions, but what is important to note is that we have strong differences between these two versions of Jesus’ birth. This is not unprecedented for other historical figures. The historical biographer Suetonius notes in his Life of Caligula (8.1-5) that there were different versions of the emperor’s birth place:
“Gaius Caesar was born the day before the Kalends of September in the consulship of his father and Gaius Fonteius Capito. Conflicting testimony makes his birthplace uncertain. Gnaeus Lentulus Gaetulicus writes that he was born at Tibur, Plinius Secundus among the Treveri, in a village called Ambitarvium above the Confluence. Pliny adds as proof that altars are shown there, inscribed “For the Delivery of Agrippina.” Verses which were in circulation soon after he became emperor indicate that he was begotten in the winter-quarters of the legions: “He who was born in the camp and reared ‘mid the arms of his country, gave at the outset a sign that he was fated to rule.” I myself find in the gazette that he first saw the light at Antium. Gaetulicus is shown to be wrong by Pliny, who says that he told a flattering lie, to add some lustre to the fame of a young and vainglorious prince from the city sacred to Hercules; and that he lied with the more assurance because Germanicus really did have a son born to him at Tibur, also called Gaius Caesar, of whose lovable disposition and untimely death I have already spoken. Pliny has erred in his chronology; for the historians of Augustus agree that Germanicus was not sent to Germany until the close of his consulship, when Gaius was already born. Moreover, the inscription on the altar adds no strength to Pliny’s view, for Agrippina twice gave birth to daughters in that region, and any childbirth, regardless of sex, is called puerperium, since the men of old called girls puerae, just as they called boys puelli. Furthermore, we have a letter written by Augustus to his granddaughter Agrippina, a few months before he died, about the Gaius in question (for no other child of the name was still alive at that time), reading as follows: “Yesterday I arranged with Talarius and Asillius to bring your boy Gaius on the fifteenth day before the Kalends of June, if it be the will of the gods. I send with him besides one of my slaves who is a physician, and I have written Germanicus to keep him if he wishes. Farewell, my own Agrippina, and take care to come in good health to your Germanicus.” I think it is clear enough that Gaius could not have been born in a place to which he was first taken from Rome when he was nearly two years old. This letter also weakens our confidence in the verses, the more so because they are anonymous. We must then accept the only remaining testimony, that of the public record, particularly since Gaius loved Antium as if it were his native soil, always preferring it to all other places of retreat, and even thinking, it is said, of transferring there the seat and abode of the empire through weariness of Rome.”
Here, Suetonius acknowledges that there is a contradiction, but as a historical author he instead engages in a rigorous analysis of the various forms of evidence, ranging from the works of previous historians, to inscriptions, to personal letters, to public records, in order to get to the bottom of the discrepancy. He discusses his sources and methods to give context to the conclusions that he has reached.
Notice that this problem is addressed consciously within a narrative, rather than between narratives by two authors who merely give their own versions of events without any discussion of sources or method. Suetonius, as a historical author, is interpreting events based on evidence, rather than merely telling a story as religious propaganda. Furthermore, Suetonius’ account is far more plausible, as there would be little reason to invent Caligula’s birth place in Antium, whereas both Matthew and Luke almost certainly invented Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, although he was known to be from Nazareth, to fulfill the expectations that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem.
The ways in which historical sources treat contradictions between traditions is very different from that of the Gospels, and we can see clear methodology in the former category and mere uncritical narration in the latter.
3. Authorial Presence in the Narrative
Notice in the two examples above that both Dionysius and Suetonius have active roles in the narrative as historians who are interjecting to discuss their sources and relation to events. We learn details of how Dionysius traveled to Rome and learned Latin, and how Suetonius was acquainted with Augustus’ own letters. The Gospel authors are silent about their identities and give context about their relation neither to their sources nor to the events they contain. The Gospel narratives instead just read like novels, told from a camera-like perspective, that merely follow around the characters with no critical analysis whatsoever.
Even among ancient historical works in which the author does not specifically give his name in the narrative, historians very frequently discuss the relation they have to the events they are analyzing. For example, even though he does not name himself in his Histories, the historian Tacitus (1.1) describes his career and relationship to the persons and events he is documenting:
“I myself knew nothing of Galba, of Otho, or of Vitellius, either from benefits or from injuries. I would not deny that my elevation was begun by Vespasian, augmented by Titus, and still further advanced by Domitian; but those who profess inviolable truthfulness must speak of all without partiality and without hatred.”
Here, Tacitus discusses, out of the individuals he is writing about, which he knew and which he was more distanced from. He clearly discusses his role during the time period and his relation to the events within it, so that the narrator’s identity and background is clearly understood with regard to the events he is investigating. This is a hallmark of history as a genre, which is an investigation in the present of past events, rather than a mere story set in the past.
4. Education Level of the Audience
While a high school-level education in History is universally taught to inhabitants of modern Western nations (still not as well as I would like), historical writing was very exclusive in antiquity. In order to fully evaluate and appreciate historical writing, one had to be educated, literate, trained in oratory, and skilled at critical thinking. Authors writing to such an audience had to demonstrate their research ability, credentials, and methodology. As scholar Pheme Perkins (OAB 1743) explains, “Greco-Roman biographies were addressed to a social and literary elite, which may explain why the Gospels, addressed to a much broader audience, do not match them very closely.”
The Gospels in contrast are written for a far less educated and critical audience. Far from the refined prose of Greek historical writing, the Gospels are written in the rudimentary Koine dialect. For anyone who reads ancient Greek, the quality between a historian like Thucydides versus the authors of the Gospels is on par with comparing Shakespeare to Sesame Street. Historical writing was simply far more complex and analytical, whereas the Gospels read as basic stories taught to encourage the faith of people who already believed and trusted in Christianity.
5. Hagiography versus Biography
Rather than read as the unmitigated praise of a saint who can do no wrong, ancient historical works and historical biographies were far more critical of their subjects, whom they analyzed less one-dimensionally and more as complete persons. Even for a popular and well-liked emperor like Augustus, his biographer Suetonius in his Life of Augustus still did not hold back from describing Augustus’ acts of adultery (69) and lavish behavior (70). Good historians are concerned with telling the past as it really is rather than just heaping praise upon individuals as propaganda.
The Gospels, in contrast, are not historical biographies but hagiographies written in unquestioning praise of their messianic subject. As a good representation of the scholarly consensus about the aims of the Gospels, the Oxford Annotated Bible (pg. 1744) explains, “Neither the evangelists nor their first readers engaged in historical analysis. Their aim was to confirm Christian faith.” Such works, written for an audience of converts, are not concerned with being critical or investigative, but merely serve the religious agendas and ideologies of the communities that produced them.
6. Sign Posts about Authorial Speculation
Even when they dutifully followed the sources available, ancient historians frequently did not know the exact words spoken by individuals in famous speeches or the exact order in which things had taken place in past events. In order to provide elegant rhetorical prose, however, creative liberties had to be taken on the part of the author to retell these dialogues as they plausibly could have taken place. This does not entail direct lying on the part of the author, since the speeches were written to represent plausible versions of the original and historians would often signal that the words were approximate. The historian Thucydides, for examples, prefaces in his History of the Peloponnesian War (1.22):
“That particular persons have spoken when they were about to enter into the war or when they were in it were hard for me to remember exactly, whether they were speeches which I have heard myself or have received at the second hand. But as any man seemed to me that knew what was nearest to the sum of the truth of all that had been uttered to speak most agreeably to the matter still in hand, so I have made it spoken here. But of the acts themselves done in the war, I thought not fit to write all that I heard from all authors nor such as I myself did but think to be true, but only those whereat I was myself present and those of which with all diligence I had made particular inquiry. And yet even of those things it was hard to know the certainty, because such as were present at every action spake not all after the same manner, but as they were affected to the parts or as they could remember.”
We have no such honesty and sign posts in the Gospels. The Gospels are not even written in the same Aramaic that Jesus spoke. The authors of Matthew and Luke may have had the diligence to copy certain saying from an earlier Q source, if it even existed, which is contested among scholars , but even then they do not signal that they are obtaining this material from a source nor do they specify how this source would be trustworthy. John is the least reliable of the Gospels, in which Jesus gives whole speeches in a prose style that is very different from the short, formulaic sayings and parables of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels. In short, the author of John merely made up a lot of Jesus’ sayings and yet did not sign post his speculation in the same way that a historian like Thucydides did.
7. Independence versus Interdependence
One thing that amazes me as a Classicist is just how interdependent the Gospels are upon each other. Matthew borrows from much as 80% of Mark’s material, and Luke borrows from 65% of the material of the earliest gospel. While John does not follow the ipsissima verba of the Synoptics, the author is still aware of the same basic skeleton and is almost certainly familiar with the earlier gospels (as shown by scholar Louis Ruprecht in This Tragic Gospel). In fact, I do not know of any other texts from antiquity that are more interdependent than the canonical Gospels. This is very bad for historical reliability, since independent attestation can be very helpful for verifying historical claims, and yet the Gospels all fail this criterion miserably.
The same is not true for ancient historical works. Consider just the four most extensive sources that we have for the life of the emperor Tiberius: Paterculus, Tacitus, Suetonius, and Cassius Dio. All four authors obtain their material from a broad range of sources rather than merely copy from each other, they write in a far more diverse range of styles, and yet they independently corroborate each other’s claims. Paterculus is an eyewitness historian writing a brief universal history of the known world, which concludes with Tiberius’ military campaigns (which he took part in). Tacitus is writing a year-by-year annalistic history of the Julio-Claudian period, but rather than just copy Paterculus for Tiberius, he instead draws from a whole array of authors who wrote during the Julio-Claudian period, as well as public records and other sources. Suetonius, who is writing almost at the same time as Tacitus, does not produce a carbon copy of his Annals, but instead writes a historical biography, not in chronological order, that is very different from the earlier sources in its style, and yet independently corroborates the claims of the earlier authors. Dio, who is writing a full history of Rome from its founding in Greek prose, a different language than the earlier Latin sources, has only one part of his massive history dealing with Tiberius. Dio probably used Tacitus, but also many other earlier sources, and writes his own unique narrative that is still consistent with the other independent sources.
For the life of Tiberius we have a wide array of independent sources corroborating each other, whereas for Jesus we have sources that are all copying and redacting one another, not providing independent information or research, but merely repeating and adding to growing legends.
8. Miracles at the Fringe versus the Core of the Narrative
Simply because ancient historical authors conducted more rigorous research does not entail that they were skeptical of the supernatural. Unbelievable stories still crop up in the writings of Greek and Latin historians, ranging from Herodotus (8.36-41) claiming that, when the Persians attacked Delphi, its armaments came alive of their own accord and defended the temple (just like in the seventh Harry Potter movie!), to Josephus (BJ 6.5.3) claiming that a cow gave birth to a lamb as an impending sign of Jerusalem’s destruction, to Suetonius claiming (Gal. 1.1) that a single lightning bolt had, before Nero’s death, struck the Temple of the Caesars and simultaneously decapitated all of the emperors’ statues, even dashing the scepter from the hand of Augustus’ statue (that is one hell of a lightning bolt!). Of course, I do not believe such stories and their placement in these narratives does make me less trustful of their authors. But fortunately, for ancient historical authors, these ridiculous tall tales are usually at the fringe rather than the core of the narrative.
The Gospels, in contrast, simply narrate unbelievable claim after unbelievable claim about a guy who can feed whole crowds with one tuna sandwich, cause dead saints to rise from their graves, himself resurrect from the dead, and then fly into space in broad daylight. These unbelievable tall tales make up the bulk of the narrative. As philosopher Stephen Law points out, following the principle of contamination, the frequency of these unbelievable stories cast doubt on even the mundane details in the narrative. It is not as if their genre is relatively historical, but merely peppered with a few miracles here and there. Rather, the Gospels are entirely fantastical and legendary. The Gospels are so contaminated by unbelievable claims that they should be treated as untrustworthy until there is good reason for believing specific details.
Another thing that should be noted is that, while ancient historians occasionally report miracles, they often use specific grammatical structures that distance themselves from affirming the stories and make clear that they are merely reporting the claims. The historian Titus Livy, for example, in reporting some of the miracle stories of regal Rome, frequently uses terms like ut dicitur (“as it is said”) or ferunt (“they claim”) to specify that he is not endorsing the claims, but merely recording that they were made. One such example is when Livy (1.39) discusses the tale of how, when he was a child, the king Servius Tullius’ head caught on fire while he was sleeping, but did not harm him, as it was a sign that he would be a future king. Livy’s careful use of the verb ferunt (“they claim”) indicates that he is distancing himself from gullibly believing in this fable. The Gospels in contrast just throw out miracle after miracle, asking us to believe every single one of them, in a manner that presumes a complete lack of critical thinking on the part of the reader.
9. Important Characters and Events Do Not Disappear from the Narrative
Prior to entry in my Classics M.A. program, I wrote as a writing sample a paper about the Roman prefect Sejanus and his alleged conspiracy against Tiberius. Both Tacitus and Dio invest extensive portions of their narratives introducing Sejanus and explaining the steps he took in gaining power under Tiberius. Whatever Sejanus was planning, it did not come to fruition, as he was executed by Tiberius in 31CE. Part of the accusations levied against Sejanus was that he had many allies in the Roman Senate who were helping him in the conspiracy.
Now, imagine if, after Sejanus’ death, there was no aftermath or followup and the narrative merely moved on to another subject. The sequence of events would not at all be logical and would leave many questions unanswered. Instead, both Tacitus (book 6) and Dio (book 58) spend a considerable amount of narrative space discussing the senators who were accused and condemned for being co-conspirators with Sejanus. This makes logical sense, as the event and its instigator were were both of a very important nature and we would not expect that they would merely disappear from a narrative in which they played crucial roles.
And yet in the Gospels earth-shaking events take place that then receive no followup and merely disappear once they have played their symbolic role in the narrative. Take the Gospel of Matthew, for example. Jesus’ death (27:52-53) causes an earthquake that opens the tombs of saints, from which dead people resurrect and then appear throughout Jerusalem. This is an extraordinary event, indeed, and yet there is no follow up in the Gospels or Acts of how the city was affected by this. Then, Pontius Pilate is so worried that Jesus’ tomb will be found empty, lest people believe a miracle had occurred (as if all of the saints’ resurrections weren’t convincing enough), that he has guards stationed at the tomb. When the guards are foiled, however, and Jesus’ body is found missing, the Jewish authorities claim (28:11-15) that the disciples stole the body. Grave robbery was a capital offense in ancient Judea, and yet, there is no followup prosecution of the disciples for this charge, even when they are brought to court on other issues. Furthermore, what happened to Joseph of Arimathea? His tomb was the one that was supposed to remain occupied, and yet, when it is found empty, he is not even questioned on the matter. Pilate had gone to great lengths to ensure that Jesus’ body did not go missing, and yet, when Jesus is claimed to have risen, he does not even undergo an investigation into the circumstances.
This sequence of events does not logically make sense, if the Gospels were narrating actual historical events. Instead, the Gospels are reporting fantastical legends, where people act in bizarrely symbolic ways and do not rationally respond to what has taken place. For this reason, as I explain in my article Let’s Presuppose That Miracles Happen: The Gospel Resurrection Stories Are Still Unworthy Of Belief, the Gospels are not believable accounts, even in a universe where miracles actually happen. Actual historical writing is not so abrupt, and reasonable consequences occur after events that are important to the sequence of the narrative.
10. Even Good Historical Texts Should Not Always Be Trusted
A final point, which is not so much a criterion of distinction, but rather a reason why even the lack of these difference would still not save the Gospels, is that not even the real historical works we have from antiquity should be taken at face value. Their authors still have their biases, they still speculate over past events, they had limited evidence afforded to them, and they still report a number of unbelievable claims.
I certainly do not trust miracle claims, simply because a historical text records them. Many ancient historians report miracles that are far better attested and independently corroborated than those in the Gospels. The historians Tacitus (Ann. 6.20), Suetonius (Gal. 4), and Cassius Dio (64.1) all independently corroborate that the emperor Tiberius used his knowledge of astrology to predict the future emperor Galba’s reign. These same historians likewise independently corroborate that Vespasian could miraculously cure the blind and crippled (Tacitus Ann. 4.81; Suetonius Vesp. 7.2; Dio 65.8). As I explained above, Tacitus, Suetonius, and Dio are not merely copying each other, whereas the Gospels are heavily dependent upon each other for information. This does not entail that the Pagan miracles are true, but it does show that they were not invented by the historians and most likely derive from an earlier common source (I think that most of these stories go back to roughly contemporary claims about miracles when Galba and Vespasian became emperors). In contrast, since the Gospels copy from each other, many of their miracles can very easily have no earlier source, and when one earlier gospel author invented a miracle, the later gospels could merely pass it along in telephone.
The main point to take away from the analysis of the criteria above is that the Gospels certainly do not measure up to the high historiography of antiquity. Many of my Classics professors who specialize in such texts, when they read the Gospels, comment on how much more rudimentary and story-like their narratives are compared to the researched and analytical characteristics of historical writing. Even Luke only has a few brief lines at the beginning that mimic historical prose, before jumping into pure hagiography like the other Gospels.
Ancient historical texts are some of my favorite works from antiquity for their sophisticated writing style, elaborate research, and intellectual rigor in investigating past events. I cannot say the same for the Gospels, although I do think they provide interesting symbolism and allegories as novels. After analyzing the Gospels under the historiographical criteria that I discuss above, however, they must be placed in a different literary genre from the actual historical works of antiquity.
A final note about modern historical methodology is that the ancient authors of these historical prose, who demonstrate their research, have independent corroboration, discuss their methodology, and reach conclusions through critical investigation, should generally be trusted, until proven otherwise. In contrast, ancient novels, such as the Gospels, that are packed full of legends and religious propaganda, should not be given the benefit of the doubt, until there is good reason for overcoming their overall unreliability in order to trust a specific detail. I do think that there are some precious kernels of truth in at least the Synoptic Gospels, but they are few and far between.
 Verbal parallels strongly suggest that the anonymous disciple is Lazarus from John 11 (verses 1; 3; 5; 11; 36), whom Jesus raises from the dead in the passage. This Lazarus is very likely based on the retelling of a story about an allegorical Lazarus in Luke 16:20-31. In the parable, Lazarus is a beggar who was fed by a wealthy man who dies and goes to Heaven, but the rich man dies and goes to Hell. The rich man begs Abraham in Heaven to send Lazarus to warn his family, since, if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent. In Luke, Abraham refuses to send Lazarus from the dead, arguing that people should study the Torah and the Prophets to believe and will not be convinced even if someone from the dead visits them. In the Gospel of John, however, in which Jesus is more prone to demonstrate his powers through signs and miracles, rather than by appeals to OT verses like in the Synoptic Gospels, the author instead has Jesus raise Lazarus, so that people may believe in him. The author of John thus very likely is redacting a previous story based on an allegorical character. Regardless, even if the anonymous beloved disciple is not based on this probable redaction, the Gospel of John is extremely ambiguous about this character’s identity, even refusing to name him at key moments, such as the discovery of the empty tomb (20:1-9), where other characters, such as Mary Magdalene and Peter are named, and yet this character is kept deliberately anonymous. The traditional identification of the disciple as John, among many other reasons, is undermined by the internal evidence of this beloved disciple’s connection with the high priestly families of Jerusalem (18:15-16), which hardly could be expected of the illiterate fisherman from backwater Galilee. The Gospel of John likewise shows signs of originally ending at John 20:30-31, and chapter 21, which claims the anonymous disciple as a witness, is very likely an addition from a later author. The chapter (21:24) distinguishes between the one who is testifying and the authors (plural) who know that it is true. Furthermore, the Gospel of John’s final composition is dated to approximately 90CE, which is largely beyond the lifetimes of any adult eyewitnesses of Jesus. To compensate for this problematic chronology, the author even has to invent the detail that this supposed eyewitness would live an abnormally long life (21:23) to account for the time gap. This detail is further explained if the anonymous disciple is based on Lazarus, who was already raised from the dead and has conquered death. Ultimately, all of these details suggest that the unidentified “source” is almost certainly an authorial invention (probably of a second author) used to gain proximal credibility for the otherwise latest of the four canonical Gospels.
 For an in-depth analysis of how the chronology of Matthew and Luke’s accounts of Jesus’ birth contain irreconcilable contradictions, see Richard Carrier’s The Date of the Nativity in Luke.
 One of the leading proponents to argue that the Q source did not exist is Mark Goodacre, who provides a resource on his website here for the arguments against Q’s existence.