The Preponderance Case: Christianity, Evidence, and Probability
A Four-Day Case for Keeping Religion Out of Science and Policy: Day 1
Day 1 : When “Evidence” Hangs on Three Words
I start with a simple ground rule that applies to everything humans claim to “know,” from physics to politics to theology:
Nothing in science is proven with 100% certainty. We build models, test them, revise them, and—when we’re honest—we talk in probabilities. The only “guarantee” any of us gets is that we die.
That’s not cynicism. That’s intellectual hygiene.
Religion, by contrast, sells certainty. It offers capital-T Truth with a divine stamp: “This is revealed. This is inspired. This is different.” Christianity, in particular, often insists it isn’t just one more spiritual philosophy competing in the market. It claims it’s historical fact, anchored by real people, real miracles, and real “external corroboration.”
So let’s examine one of the most popular “external corroborations” Christians lean on: Josephus—the first-century Jewish historian—and the famous line about “James, the brother of Jesus who was called Christ.”
If that line is solid, Christians get something rare: a non-Christian, near-contemporary name-drop that seems to link Jesus to a known historical event.
If that line is shaky, Christianity’s “outside the Bible” footing starts to look like every other religion’s: internal scripture + later tradition + apologetics fighting to keep the story standing.
Richard Carrier’s January 6, 2026 post is a blunt case study in exactly that fight: how scholarship can turn into advocacy when the incentives are religious rather than historical.
I’m not asking you to become a specialist in Greek manuscript traditions. I’m asking you to notice what kind of “evidence” is being offered—and whether it deserves the social authority we keep granting it in secular life.
The Josephus “James” passage: what it actually says
In Antiquities 20.200 (traditional numbering), Josephus describes a political/religious power move in Jerusalem: the high priest Ananus convenes a council and has certain people condemned. In the standard English translation, Josephus says Ananus brought before the council “the brother of Jesus, who was called Christ, whose name was James,” and others, and they were delivered to be stoned.
That short clause—“who was called Christ”—is the lightning rod.
If Josephus wrote it, it is a meaningful non-Christian reference to Jesus.
If Josephus didn’t write it—if it was inserted later by Christian scribes—then the “best external evidence” just became a footnote in a copying error.
And that matters, because once you strip away the New Testament texts (written by believers, shaped by preaching, and transmitted through church hands), Christianity’s external anchors are limited and contested. That doesn’t automatically make Jesus “myth,” but it absolutely weakens the claim that Christianity is categorically different from other religions that also insist their founders were real and their miracles happened.
Why three words matter so much
If you’re not religious, it can be hard to understand how much weight is placed on tiny phrases.
But that’s the point: when a worldview depends on contested micro-details, you’re not looking at “divine clarity.” You’re looking at human uncertainty—and an institution trying to turn that uncertainty into certainty for you.
Carrier argues that “called Christ” (Greek: tou legomenou Christou) looks like a marginal note that got pulled into the main text later, rather than something Josephus originally wrote.
You don’t have to accept Carrier’s conclusion to see the broader issue:
Christian apologetics often behaves like a defense team, not like a neutral investigator.
And when religion is treated as “special knowledge” in public life, that apologetic posture gets smuggled into education, politics, and law under the label of “history” or “heritage.”
The Origen problem: “Why didn’t he use it?”
One of the most pointed arguments in this whole debate has nothing to do with clever theories. It’s the basic, common-sense question:
If this Josephan line existed in Origen’s day, why didn’t Origen use it clearly and directly?
Origen (3rd century) is a heavyweight Christian writer. In Against Celsus 1.47, he claims Josephus connected the fall of Jerusalem to the death of “James the Just,” whom Origen describes as “a brother of Jesus (called Christ)."
But here’s the catch: the exact “punishment for killing James” claim Origen attributes to Josephus does not appear in the surviving Josephus manuscripts. That mismatch is widely noted even in mainstream summaries of the issue.
So we have a real historical phenomenon we must explain:
- Origen is confident Josephus said certain things about James.
- Our Josephus text doesn’t match Origen’s description on key points.
- Later, Eusebius (4th century) is the first major figure who “quotes” Josephus in a form that resembles the later tradition, including a line about vengeance for James.
Carrier’s interpretation is one way to connect the dots: Origen’s confusion plus later scribal annotation plus later incorporation into the main text.
You don’t have to buy every detail to see the uncomfortable reality: the chain of custody here runs through Christian hands, Christian libraries, and Christian copyists.
That’s not “divine preservation.” That’s human transmission—exactly like every other religion’s texts.
What Schmidt represents (and why the incentives matter)
T.C. Schmidt’s Oxford Academic chapter on the Josephus James passage offers a defense of authenticity and engages Carrier directly.
This is important: there are credentialed scholars who disagree with Carrier. It is not honest to pretend Carrier has “won” the entire field.
But here’s the bigger point—one that applies well beyond this specific dispute:
When a scholar is writing in a context that is explicitly theological or apologetic, the incentive structure is different.
History asks, “What is most likely true?”
Apologetics asks, “How can I keep this claim defensible?”
Those are not the same project. They can overlap sometimes, but they are not interchangeable.
Carrier’s post is essentially an accusation that Schmidt is doing apologetics dressed up as history. Schmidt, obviously, would reject that framing.
So as a reader, you don’t need to pick a hero. You need to ask:
What method is being used—and what outcome is being protected?
Because if “the truth” depends on protecting a predetermined outcome, it stops being historical inquiry and becomes institutional self-preservation.
The “called Christ” phrase: ordinary note, extraordinary consequences
There’s a deceptively simple observation sitting underneath all the fireworks:
“Who is called Christ” is a very Christian-sounding identification tag.
The New Testament itself uses “called Christ” language (famously in Matthew 1:16 in many translations).
Carrier and others argue this looks exactly like the kind of quick identifier a Christian reader would scribble in a margin—especially if they were trying to connect Josephus to the Christian narrative.
Schmidt counters that the phrase could be “distant” or skeptical in a non-Christian author’s mouth and that the structure of Josephus’s sentence has its own logic.
Fine. That’s the debate.
But step back and notice what Christianity is asking the modern world to do:
It wants public deference—social authority, constitutional privilege, cultural insulation—based on claims that depend on disputing whether three words were marginal ink or authorial ink in a manuscript tradition controlled by Christians.
If you’re honest about standards of evidence, you can’t call that “revelation.” You can only call it what it is:
Fragile historical inference.
Modern scholarship is not settled—and that’s the point
There are recent peer-reviewed discussions specifically re-examining the James passage, including Nicholas List’s “The Death of James the Just Revisited” in Journal of Early Christian Studies.
The existence of that paper doesn’t automatically validate Carrier. It validates something simpler:
This is still debated.
And if it’s still debated in 2024, it shouldn’t be preached in public life as if it’s a slam-dunk historical foundation for divine truth.
If your religion needs contested textual micro-arguments to keep its “external support” alive, then it is not categorically different from other religions whose claims also live or die by interpretive contests over ancient sources.
From “a historical Jesus” to “Jesus as presented in the Gospels”
Now let’s sharpen what I’m actually arguing in this series, because people love to bait-and-switch this topic.
There are two separate questions:
- Did some first-century Jewish preacher exist who later became the seed of the Jesus movement?
- Is Jesus “as presented in the Gospels” (miracle-working, virgin-born, resurrected, cosmic savior) a historically reliable portrait—or is he a theological construction that accumulated mythic features over time?
Even if you answer “yes” to (1), you can still answer “no” to (2).
Carrier is more aggressive than most scholars and pushes hard toward mythicism. Many mainstream historians reject that.
But even without going full mythicist, the Josephus problem still lands:
The “outside evidence” is not strong enough to justify Christianity’s claim to special epistemic status in modern society.
And once that special status collapses, Christianity becomes what it has always been in the raw historical sense:
A religion—one among many—built on texts, tradition, preaching, community identity, and institutional reinforcement.
Not “science.” Not “knowledge.” Not “public policy.”
The constitutional angle begins with epistemic humility
America’s constitutional experiment works best when the state doesn’t pick winners in metaphysical debates.
You can believe whatever you want. You can worship, pray, evangelize, build churches, and live your faith.
But the moment religion tries to cash out its claims as public authority—especially in science classrooms, healthcare policy, or state power—it runs headfirst into a basic problem:
Religion does not meet the evidentiary standards required for secular governance.
That’s not “disrespect.” That’s category separation.
Even the Supreme Court’s modern Establishment Clause doctrine has been shifting—moving away from the old Lemon framework toward “historical practices and understandings.”
But none of that means religion becomes “science,” or that biblical claims become admissible as empirical conclusions.
We’ve already seen where that road leads in education: the Court struck down laws requiring “creation science” to be taught alongside evolution because the purpose was religious endorsement, not secular instruction.
So the constitutional case I’m building in this series is simple:
A secular state can protect religious liberty without granting religious claims authority over secular institutions.
And the Josephus debate—yes, even this “three words in a manuscript” fight—is a perfect illustration of why.
Because this is what “evidence” looks like when the claim is not anchored in repeatable, independently verifiable reality.
It’s interpretation, motivated reasoning, and institutional pressure—exactly what science was designed to resist.
Why This Matters
If Christianity were truly “divinely inspired” in a way that sets it apart, it wouldn’t need this kind of scaffolding.
It wouldn’t need fragile textual disputes to prove its founder existed, or apologetic frameworks to keep doubts at bay, or cultural leverage to maintain dominance.
The Josephus–James controversy is a reminder that religious certainty is not the same thing as justified confidence.
In a free society, you’re allowed to believe. But you are not entitled to have your belief treated as public knowledge—especially when the best “external evidence” is still debated and may hinge on scribal behavior in Christian-controlled transmission.
That’s why religion belongs in private conscience and voluntary community—not in science, not in secular lawmaking, and not in constitutional privilege.
References
Carrier, R. (2026, January 6). T.C. Schmidt on James in Josephus: Apologetics vs. History. richardcarrier.info
Josephus, F. Antiquities of the Jews, Book 20 (passage commonly numbered Ant. 20.200). (English trans. tradition as hosted by U. Chicago / Whiston lineage). Penelope+1
Origen. Against Celsus 1.47 (English trans. at New Advent). New Advent
Eusebius. Church History Book II (discussion of Josephus and James; English trans. at New Advent / CCEL). New Advent+1
Schmidt, T. C. “James the Brother of Jesus: Antiquities 20.200.” (Oxford Academic chapter engaging the authenticity debate). OUP Academic
List, N. (2024). The Death of James the Just Revisited. Journal of Early Christian Studies, 32(1), 17–44. journals.scholarsportal.info+1
Edwards v. Aguillard, 482 U.S. 578 (1987). Justia Law+1
Kennedy v. Bremerton School District, 597 U.S. (2022). Supreme Court+1
Disclaimer:
The views expressed in this post are opinions of the author for educational and commentary purposes only. They are not statements of fact about any individual or organization, and should not be construed as legal, medical, or financial advice. References to public figures and institutions are based on publicly available sources cited in the article. Any resemblance beyond these references is coincidental.
