It turns out, they often are. And that's precisely what Flavius Josephus, the first-century Jewish historian, points out in his work, Against Apion. He's making a case for the antiquity and reliability of Jewish history, and he does so by bringing in some surprising witnesses.
Specifically, he calls upon Berosus, a Chaldean priest and historian who lived in the 3rd century BCE. Berosus wrote a history of Babylonia for the Greeks, and Josephus is keen to show how Berosus's account aligns with the Hebrew Bible. He emphasizes that Berosus "was by birth a Chaldean, well known by the learned, on account of his publication of the Chaldean books of astronomy and philosophy among the Greeks." This wasn't some fringe figure; he was a respected scholar in his own right.
What's fascinating is that Berosus, according to Josephus, corroborates the story of the great flood. He "gives us a history of the deluge of waters that then happened, and of the destruction of mankind thereby, and agrees with Moses's narration thereof." Think about that for a moment. Here's a historian from a completely different culture, writing about a cataclysmic event that resonates so strongly with the story of Noah and the ark that we all know. Berosus even mentions the ark landing on the "highest part of the Armenian mountains," just like in the biblical account! And he continues with "a catalogue of the posterity of Noah," tracing the lineage of humanity forward.
But the parallels don't stop there. Berosus also recounts the rise of Nebuchadnezzar (Nabolassar in Berosus’s account), the Babylonian king who conquered Jerusalem and exiled the Jewish people. Josephus quotes Berosus directly, "'When Nabolassar, father of Nabuchodonosor, heard that the governor whom he had set over Egypt, and over the parts of Celesyria and Phoenicia, had revolted from him, he was not able to bear it any longer; but committing certain parts of his army to his son Nabuchodonosor, who was then but young, he sent him against the rebel.'" This echoes the biblical narrative in the books of Kings and Chronicles, where we read about the Babylonian conquest and the destruction of the First Temple.
Berosus vividly describes Nebuchadnezzar's military campaigns, noting he "conquered Egypt, and Syria, and Phoenicia, and Arabia, and exceeded in his exploits all that had reigned before him in Babylon and Chaldea." And most importantly, Berosus confirms the exile: Nebuchadnezzar "removed our people entirely out of their own country, and transferred them to Babylon; when it so happened that our city was desolate during the interval of seventy years, until the days of Cyrus king of Persia." The seventy-year exile is a crucial period in Jewish history, and here it is, independently verified by a Babylonian historian!
Josephus goes on to detail Nebuchadnezzar's building projects, including the magnificent temple of Belus and the famous Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Berosus says that Nebuchadnezzar "adorned the temple of Belus, and the other temples, after an elegant manner, out of the spoils he had taken in this war. He also rebuilt the old city, and added another to it on the outside...". He even built the Hanging Gardens "to please his queen, because she had been brought up in Media, and was fond of a mountainous situation." These details paint a picture of a powerful and ambitious ruler, much like the Nebuchadnezzar we encounter in the Bible.
So, what does all this mean? Josephus isn't just name-dropping Berosus to impress his readers. He's making a powerful argument: that Jewish history is not some isolated, self-contained narrative. It's part of a larger tapestry of ancient Near Eastern history, and its key events are corroborated by independent sources. It suggests that these stories weren't just made up; they reflected real events that left a lasting impact on the world. And isn't that a comforting thought? That our stories, our struggles, our triumphs, resonate beyond our own community, echoing through the corridors of time.