Robyn Faith Walsh and the Golden Bough.
I’ve been reviewing for the second time “The Origins of Early Christian Literature” by Robyn Faith Walsh.
Having studied for some time Sir James George Frazer’ “Golden Bough”, and the critiques levelled at that by modern historians like Ronald Hutton and Owen Davies, I was struck by some similarities in methodology and result.
Walsh’s approach to the gospels, like Frazer’s “Golden Bough”, risks overextending comparative models and minimizing the role of community memory. Both methods are brilliant in drawing connections across cultures, but their weaknesses lie in reductionism and selective framing.
The key weakness of “The Golden Bough” was that of overgeneralization. Frazer sought universal patterns of myth and ritual, often flattening cultural differences. He cherry-picked examples that fit his thesis of dying-and-rising gods, ignoring counter-evidence. His sweeping narrative was compelling but often more poetic than historically precise.
Robyn Walsh argues in “The Origins of Early Christian Literature” (2021) that the gospels are “deliberate literary creations within Greco-Roman culture”, crafted by educated elites rather than emerging organically from oral peasant traditions.
This highlights the gospels as part of wider literary networks (echoing Homer, Plato, and Roman satire), and is certainly correct to stress the authorial craft of the gospel writers. However, in it there is a reduction of the part played by the Christian communities. We know from Paul’s letters that there were Christian communities, but like Frazer’s flattening of ritual diversity, Walsh risks erasing the role of oral tradition and communal memory by focusing almost exclusively on elite literary production.
In both cases, there is there phenomenon of “comparative overreach”: Frazer saw dying gods everywhere; Walsh sometimes sees Greco-Roman literary parallels everywhere, which can obscure the distinctiveness of Jewish and early Christian contexts.
By privileging elite authorship, she may underplay the messy transmission, editing, and communal shaping evident in textual variants. Frazer abstracted myths from social life; Walsh risks abstracting gospels from lived worship and community practice, treating them primarily as texts rather than as liturgical or pastoral instruments.
Both Frazer and Walsh offer powerful lenses but risk reductionist readings if taken alone. Frazer’s mythic universalism and Walsh’s literary elitism each highlight one dimension while obscuring others. For communal reflection, the challenge is to balance literary craft with lived tradition, seeing the gospels as both texts shaped by Greco-Roman culture and testimonies rooted in Jewish-Christian communities.
Frazer’s “Golden Bough” dazzled by drawing sweeping connections across myths and rituals, but the problem was that many of those connections were surface-level resemblances rather than deep structural or contextual links. He saw “dying-and-rising gods” everywhere, but often ignored the cultural specificity that made each story unique.
Robyn Walsh’s approach to the gospels risks something similar. By emphasizing parallels with Greco-Roman literary forms, for example, the Greek novel, Petronius’ Satyrica, Homeric echoes, she highlights real stylistic borrowings, but removes them from their context. This can be summarised as follows:
- Surface resemblance vs. Substance: The gospels share narrative devices (journeys, dialogues, miracle episodes) with the Greek novel, but their function and style is radically different with proclamation of salvation, liturgical use, theological teaching.
- Context loss: Just as Frazer abstracted myths from their ritual settings, Walsh risks abstracting the gospels from their Jewish and communal worship context, treating them primarily as elite literary experiments.
- Comparative overreach: Frazer universalized myth; Walsh sometimes universalizes literary parallels, making the gospels look like “just another Greco-Roman text,” which underplays their distinctive blend of Jewish scripture, liturgy, and theology.
- Seductive narrative: Frazer’s sweeping mythic story was compelling but misleading; Walsh’s elegant literary framing can be equally seductive, but risks reductionism if taken alone.
- Neglect of transmission: Textual variants and messy editorial processes suggest broader communal involvement than her model allows.
Stylistic Observations
One of the questions we have to ask is how stylistically similar is the satyrica to gospels, would ancient biography be a better fit?
The Satyrica (Petronius) which she makes much of parallels is a Roman prose satire/novel (1st century CE), full of bawdy humour, episodic adventures, and parody. Although it is fragmentary in what survives, it has a comic tone, with exaggeration, grotesque characters, and sexual escapades. The focus is entertainment rather than moral or theological teaching.
By contrast the Gospels are written in straightforward Koine Greek, aiming for clarity and authority. They have a narrative unity - ministry, death, resurrection of Jesus. And in particular the passion narratives stand out as distinctive. The miracles and teachings are presented seriously, not as a parody. They have liturgical echoes and aphoristic sayings.
So while there are surface similarities – up to the passion narrative, a very episodic structure with travel narratives, dialogue scenes, miracle-like events (in Satyrica, often comic or grotesque; in gospels, sacred), there are deeper differences. The Satyrica mixes genres (epic parody, erotic tale); while the gospels maintain a consistent theological voice. The audiences expectations differ between entertainment and proclamation of salvation.
Ancient Biography (Bioi) is a genre describing the lives of philosophers, generals, or rulers (e.g., Plutarch’s Lives, Suetonius’ Lives of the Caesars) which fits much better with a focus on character and deeds where lives are presented as models or warnings. Like the gospels there is a flexible chronology where episodes are often arranged thematically rather than strictly sequentially. The Greek novel comparison highlights literary techniques (episodic journeys, dialogues), but the function and tone of the gospels align more closely with biography, as Richard Burridge has demonstrated.
So: the Satyrica shows stylistic surface resemblances (episodic narrative, travel, dialogue), but ancient biography is a better fit for the gospels’ purpose and tone. The gospels are not parody or entertainment; they are serious narrative testimony shaped by theological conviction.
However, many apocryphal New Testament writings actually line up more closely with Robyn Walsh’s thesis than the canonical gospels do, because they often show clearer signs of elite literary experimentation within Greco-Roman culture.
Walsh argues that the canonical gospels were crafted by educated elites, not simply oral traditions from peasant communities. Several apocryphal writings display exactly this kind of literary playfulness and cultural borrowing:
For example the Infancy Gospels (e.g., Protoevangelium of James, Infancy Gospel of Thomas) have elaborate expansions on Jesus’ childhood, full of miracle tales and dramatic episodes. These do stylistically resemble popular Greco-Roman storytelling, with episodic adventures and moral lessons. They show conscious literary invention rather than simple oral memory.
If we take the Acts of Paul and Thecla, this read like a romance-adventure tale, with Thecla defying social norms, surviving miraculous escapes, and travelling widely. Again the stylistic parallels to the Greek novel are stronger here than in the canonical Acts.
The Gospel of Peter offers a highly stylized passion narrative, with cosmic signs and dramatized scenes. This shows deliberate literary artistry, echoing Greco-Roman tragic motifs.
The Apocryphal Acts (Peter, John, Andrew, Thomas) have episodic journeys, exotic settings, miraculous contests, all hallmarks of Greco-Roman adventure literature.
So the apocryphal (and later) writings are much closer to the Satyrica or Greek novel in tone than the sober canonical gospels. This means Walsh’s thesis that gospel authors were part of Greco-Roman literary networks finds stronger confirmation in apocryphal texts of a later date than in the canonical ones.
The apocryphal writings illustrate how early Christian authors could play with Greco-Roman genres of romance, satire, tragedy in ways that Walsh highlights. But this also shows the limits of her model: canonical gospels are more deeply rooted in Jewish tradition and communal worship, while apocryphal texts lean more toward literary experimentation.
Walsh’s central thesis is that the canonical gospels were written by educated elites who were part of Greco‑Roman literary networks, rather than emerging organically from oral peasant traditions. Her analysis concentrates on Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, with particular attention to the Synoptics.
She situates these texts alongside Greco‑Roman genres (biography, satire, novel) to highlight stylistic and cultural parallels. But she does not provide extended treatment of apocryphal writings such as the Protoevangelium of James, Infancy Gospel of Thomas, Acts of Paul and Thecla, or Gospel of Peter.
For historians of early Christianity, the apocrypha are crucial control cases. They show how far Christian authors could push Greco‑Roman literary styles. By not engaging them systematically, Walsh’s thesis looks under‑tested: it may explain some features of the canonical gospels, but it doesn’t account for the full spectrum of early Christian literature, or why the later writings, clearly divorced from history, fit the model better.
For my earlier review, see here:
Posts
