63 pages • 2-hour read
Elaine PagelsA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of religious discrimination, animal death, and graphic violence.
In Pagels’s reading of the Gospels, Jesus’s miracles work primarily as symbolic acts shaped by political and theological pressure. As in her broader discussion of Jesus’s life, Pagels is concerned less with the objective truth of these stories—for instance, whether Jesus “really” exorcised demons—than with how they would have resonated culturally. In the Gospel of Mark, she argues, these moments frequently outline a veiled challenge to earthly power. Mark ties each miracle to images drawn from Jewish scripture and apocalyptic hope and uses that link to hint at God’s coming victory over oppressive forces, especially the Roman Empire. This lets the “good news” circulate among those who recognize the signals while it stays out of reach for hostile outsiders.
The story of the Gerasene possession typifies Pagels’s basic interpretive approach. When Jesus meets the possessed man, the demon introduces itself by saying, “My name is Legion; there are many of us!” (63). Pagels points out that a “legion” was also the core military unit of Roman imperial control. The allusion becomes even clearer when Jesus sends the demons into a herd of swine that then plunge into the sea and drown. First-century Jewish audiences would have seen two linked images: The pig recalls the emblem of the Tenth Legion stationed in Judea, and the destruction in the sea replays the Exodus moment when God overwhelms the Egyptian army in the Red Sea. Pagels therefore argues that the episode works as a political story that pledges that God will free Israel by breaking the grip of its occupying forces.
Indeed, Pagels suggests that this theme of deliverance is central to several of Jesus’s miracles. When Jesus quiets a storm on the Sea of Galilee, his authority over the waves evokes the power that parts the Red Sea. The two scenes where Jesus feeds thousands of people in the desert recall God’s gift of manna to the Israelites during their 40 years in the wilderness. By shaping these miracles as echoes of Israel’s foundational escape from bondage, Pagels argues, Mark presents Jesus as a new Moses leading a renewed Exodus. These moments therefore point to God’s coming action in history, but only for those who already know the scriptural pattern.
This reading of the miracles as intentionally ambiguous (or at least multilayered) is in keeping with Pagels’s broader claims about Jesus’s ministry. Pagels notes, for example, that Jesus often teaches in parables “to hide his meaning” from people outside his closest followers (62). His miracles adopt the same pattern; they appear as puzzling actions whose full significance reaches only those “who ‘have eyes to see’” (72). This let a message of hope take shape without exposing the community to Roman punishment. In Mark’s hands, the miracles confirm Jesus’s divine authority while also forming the core of his gospel, where the “mystery of God’s kingdom” unfolds through symbolic action (52).
Jesus’s crucifixion was carried out by Roman authorities, yet the gospel accounts of his death offer a more ambiguous picture of Rome’s involvement. In Miracles and Wonder, Pagels traces the shifting portrayal of Jesus’s execution across the Gospels to show how each narrative reduces Rome’s role and increases the blame assigned to Jewish leaders and crowds. Pagels argues that this revision aimed to help early Christians avoid Roman reprisal—a particularly pressing need given that both the Bible and circumstantial evidence (e.g., regarding the use of crucifixion) suggest that Jesus was executed for sedition against Rome. However, while the rhetorical move may have protected the community, it also set a pattern that shaped later antisemitism.
Pagels’s analysis of the portrayal of Pontius Pilate, Rome’s representative both in Judea and in the biblical narrative, exemplifies this shift. In Mark, the earliest version, Pilate orders the crucifixion but appears aware that “it was out of jealousy that the chief priests had handed him over” (121). Matthew intensifies this hesitation. His account shows Pilate washing his hands before the crowd and declaring that he bears no responsibility for the bloodshed. Luke goes further still, depicting Pilate declaring Jesus innocent three times and trying to send the case to King Herod. Examining the three accounts in conjunction, Pagels notes that “The stern Pilate grows more mellow from gospel to gospel” (140). The transformation turns the Roman governor who carried out the execution into an administrator overwhelmed by outside pressure. The change is particularly notable given that Pilate’s historic contemporaries, namely the Jewish historian Josephus, describe him as bloodthirsty and all too willing to use torture and execution as political terrorism.
As Pilate’s responsibility fades, the blame attached to Jewish figures rises. Mark names the “chief priests” as the main opponents. Matthew widens the group by adding a scene in which all assembled cry out, “His blood be upon us, and upon our children!” (135). As Pagels observes, the line explicitly shifts guilt from Roman officials to later generations of Jews. Luke similarly states that the “chief priests, the leaders, and the people” call for crucifixion until “their voices prevailed” (136). By the time the Gospel of John appears, “the Jews” are cast as a unified group that seeks Jesus’s death from the start of his ministry.
Pagels ties this revisionism to the pressure early Christians faced within the Roman Empire. By presenting the crucifixion as the climax of a conflict inside the Jewish community that Pilate tried to prevent, the Gospels gave the movement a less threatening profile to Rome. However, later events would change the impact of this framing. When Christianity gained imperial backing under Constantine, the same stories were leveraged to support laws and violence directed at Jews. The charge of “deicide,” or killing God, hardened into an antisemitic tool detached from the need for survival that shaped the original story.
Jesus’s role as bringer of hope is central to orthodox Christian teaching; his birth is heralded by divine portents, and his death redeems humanity from its state of sinfulness. Pagels, too, depicts Jesus as a figure who inspires hope, yet she also lingers on the paradox of looking to a man whose life ended in such brutal fashion for deliverance. Indeed, Pagels observes that after Jesus’s crucifixion, his followers hid in fear, and the movement neared collapse. Their hope for a new kingdom, often understood in explicitly political terms, seemed to vanish with his death; as some said, “We had hoped that he was the one to deliver Israel” (89). In this context, the story of Jesus’s return from death becomes pivotal, with Pagels showing how the varied experiences of his resurrection reversed that collapse and gave the community a renewed sense of life and purpose.
Pagels traces two kinds of stories that spread through the early churches, together reshaping how his followers thought about death and opened a path for growth. Some described Jesus appearing in a physical body, while other stories described visionary encounters. Pagels suggests that both would have had distinct functions. The bodily scenes underline the reality of Jesus’s physical presence and respond to claims that the disciples saw a ghost or imagined the encounter. In Luke, for instance, Jesus tells the frightened disciples to “Touch me, and see” and then eats a piece of fish to show that he has “flesh and bones” (182). John’s account of Thomas placing his hand in Jesus’s wounds gives another scene of direct proof. By contrast, visionary stories center on the surprising and transformative character of these moments. Mary Magdalene meets Jesus near the tomb and mistakes him for a gardener, and the travelers to Emmaus recognize him only when he vanishes. Paul’s encounter on the road, which appears as a blinding light, shows the power of a non-bodily vision. The presence of both forms signals a shared attempt to support the resurrection through concrete testimony and through experiences that reach beyond ordinary perception.
Pagels contends that faith in these encounters became the movement’s driving force. Historian Ed Sanders writes that “That Jesus’s followers […] had resurrection experiences is, in my judgement, a fact” (211), and Pagels notes that this conviction encouraged the disciples to regroup and preach. Paul, in particular, built his authority on his own vision and placed the resurrection at the heart of his message.
Ultimately, Pagels argues, the resurrection reframed Jesus’s execution by presenting it as a step toward victory over death. Citing Adolf von Harnack, she writes that the belief that “the Lord would raise his people from death […] has become the mightiest power through which the Gospel has won [its reception throughout the world]” (211). This hope reached people far outside the ranks of the powerful and included the enslaved and the marginalized. The resurrection stories therefore gave shape to a movement that transformed the cross, a tool of Roman terror, into a source of enduring hope.



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