The Jerusalem Council: A Stronger Reading Than Its Critics Allow

C. J. Cornthwaite argues that the Jerusalem Council in Acts of the Apostles 15 is a fabrication—an invented scene designed to give Paul legitimacy and to smooth over tensions in early Christianity. His case rests mainly on comparing Acts with Paul’s own account in Epistle to the Galatians 1–2, along with a few additional observations about Paul’s silence elsewhere and the literary style of Acts.

The argument sounds confident, but it depends on a series of methodological moves that don’t hold up under scrutiny.

Start with the comparison between Acts and Galatians. Cornthwaite treats the differences between the two as if they were contradictions. In Acts, the meeting appears formal, public, and unified. In Galatians, Paul emphasizes a more private interaction and stresses his independence. But historians don’t move from “these accounts are different” to “one must be invented.” That’s not how ancient sources work. Different authors select, compress, and frame events according to their purposes. Paul is defending his apostolic authority; Luke is narrating the spread of the early church. It would be surprising if they sounded the same.

In fact, the core overlap is often ignored. Both sources agree that Paul met with leaders in Jerusalem—figures like Peter and James—and that the issue of Gentile inclusion was discussed. That shared ground matters. The differences sit on top of a common historical core, not in place of it.

Cornthwaite leans heavily on Paul’s silence in 1 Corinthians 8–10, where Paul deals with food sacrificed to idols but does not appeal to any decree from Jerusalem. The suggestion is that if such a decree existed, Paul would have used it. But that assumes Paul argues by appealing to external rulings. He doesn’t. Across his letters, Paul consistently reasons from what he understands the gospel to require—especially the shape of life formed by the cross. He persuades communities; he does not cite ecclesiastical paperwork. Appealing to Jerusalem might even have undercut his claim that his gospel came directly from Christ. So the silence proves very little.

The same problem appears in the way the Antioch incident is used. In Galatians 2, Paul describes confronting Peter over withdrawing from table fellowship with Gentiles. Cornthwaite takes this as evidence that no prior agreement—like the one in Acts 15—could have existed. But that assumes that agreements remove conflict. In reality, agreements often expose how difficult change will be. Peter’s behaviour looks less like a denial of a decision and more like a failure to live consistently with it under pressure. That is exactly the sort of thing that happens in real movements.

Another line of argument focuses on the formal tone of the decree in Acts 15. Cornthwaite notes that it resembles Greco-Roman civic resolutions and suggests this indicates invention. But that confuses literary form with historical reliability. Ancient writers routinely used familiar rhetorical patterns to present decisions. If anything, it shows that the author of Acts knew how such resolutions were expressed. It does not show that the event itself was fabricated.

Underneath all of this is a more basic issue. The argument assumes that if Acts were reporting a real event, it would look like a modern transcript—precise, consistent, and free of tension when compared with other sources. When it doesn’t meet that standard, the conclusion is that it must be fiction. But that expectation is anachronistic. Ancient historiography does not aim at verbatim reporting. It aims to convey what happened in a meaningful and coherent way, often shaping the material to highlight outcomes rather than process.

If we step back and read both sources with those realities in mind, a more coherent picture emerges. Paul’s letters show that he had real interactions with Jerusalem leaders, that the question of Gentile inclusion was contested, and that some form of agreement was reached. Acts presents that same reality in a more structured and unified way, emphasizing the outcome and its significance for the wider movement. The tensions between the accounts reflect the complexity of the situation, not its non-existence.

The irony is that the features Cornthwaite treats as signs of fabrication—variation in detail, uneven application, continued disagreement—are exactly what one would expect from a genuine historical process. Movements don’t resolve their deepest disputes in a single moment. They negotiate, adapt, and sometimes relapse under pressure.

A careful historian doesn’t need to pretend that Acts 15 reads like a modern set of minutes. But neither should we collapse it into fiction because it doesn’t. The more modest and more historically grounded conclusion is that something like the Jerusalem Council did take place: a real meeting or series of meetings in Jerusalem, addressing a real controversy, producing a real—if imperfect—agreement that took time, and effort, to work out in practice.