Chapter 12 Aprocryphal Gospels

In addition to the four gospels which alone were accepted by the Church during and after the time of Irenaeus, there were many apocryphal gospels which were favoured by Gnostic and other heretical groups. The most important of these gospels deserve some consideration.

Perhaps the oldest are those named after the groups which employed them: those according to the ‘Hebrews’, the ‘Egyptians’, and the ‘Ebionites’. Hebrews seems to consist essentially of a modification of the Gospel of Matthew in the direction of Jewish Christianity; its hero is James the Lord’s brother, recipient of a special resurrection-appearance (cf. I Cor. 15.17), and head of the Jerusalem church. Egyptians, on the other hand, contained traditions of the sayings of Jesus which portrayed him as having come to ‘destroy the works of the female’, specifically the work of reproduction. The gospel used by the Ebionites stated that Jesus had come to destroy sacrifices; unless sacrifices were terminated (in the temple at Jerusalem) men would not be saved. These gospels exist today only in fragments from which it is hard to draw definite conclusions. It is probable, however, that none of them was written before the second third of the second century.

In addition to these gospels, scholars have discovered a second-century papyrus which contains episodes in the life of Jesus and some sayings ascribed to him; these materials seem to be based on John and the synoptics, along with some extraneous legends.

Two gospels ascribed to apostles are more important. The first, ascribed to Peter, exists in part in a papyrus fragment which describes the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus and breaks off when the author says, ‘But I, Simon Peter, and Andrew my brother, took our nets and went away to the sea, and with us there was Levi, son of Alphaeus, whom the Lord. . .’ This gospel was known to and criticized by Serapion, bishop of Antioch, about 190. The second was discovered in a Coptic version in 1945 but not identified until 1952. This is the famous Gospel of Thomas, a collection of 112 or 114 sayings of Jesus.

Thomas

This work was discovered in a library of forty-nine Gnostic writings in thirteen leather-bound volumes. Earlier, nothing was known about it except the fact that it was used by several heretical groups such as the Naassenes; some church writers denounced it but did not describe it. Only when Thomas was found could the fragmentary ‘sayings of Jesus’, published in 1897 and 1903 in The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, be assigned to it.

The words of Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas are present as ‘secret’, i.e. not known in the common tradition of the Church, and it is said that ‘whoever finds the interpretation of them will not taste death’ (Preface). The idea presented here resembles that found in John 8:52: ‘whoever keeps my word will never taste death’ -- along with the notion that the words of Jesus have a hidden meaning (cf. Mark 4:10-12, 33-4). The true interpreter (saying 1) is he who does not cease from seeking until he finds (cf. Matt. 7:7-8; Luke 11:9-10). No matter how obvious the meaning of various sayings may seem to be, all have a hidden significance, and Jesus spoke all of them after his resurrection.

The literary (or pre-literary) forms in which the various words are cast are strikingly similar to those used in the canonical gospels, especially the synoptics. They include parables, aphorisms, brief dialogues, and pronouncements beginning with ‘I’. (The dog in the manger of saying 102 is paralleled in Aesop’s fables.) As in some parts of the synoptic gospels, a good many of the sayings seem to be linked by verbal association rather than by similarity of subject matter. In many of Thomas’s sayings, too, we encounter reflections of the Semitic parallelism found not only in the synoptics but also in the Old Testament; this feature does not, however, prove the authenticity of any of the sayings, for it could easily be due to imitation.

It is equally important to observe how different the ‘Gospel’ of Thomas is from the gospel-form employed in the Church. In Thomas there is no attempt at providing a historical framework for the ministry of Jesus (as already noted, the sayings are regarded as spoken after his death); there are no miracles; there is no passion narrative; there is no correlation with the Old Testament. Indeed, there is practically no action of any kind. This means that the final editor of Thomas understood the word ‘gospel’ in the sense in which it sometimes occurs in Matthew and Mark to refer to the message of Jesus about the kingdom of God. The term is not, however, to be found in the book itself; where we hear of ‘secret words’ or of the ‘mysteries’ of Jesus (62) or of ‘the word of the Father’ (79) Thus while the compilation of Thomas is in form not unlike the collection or collections of sayings of Jesus which may underlie the materials common to Matthew and Luke, there is no reason to suppose that the two are related, or that either was originally known as a gospel. Thomas might also be related to a collection of sayings underlying the Gospel of John, but the existence of such a collection is purely hypothetical (see Chapter XI).

Since Thomas is the first of the early apocryphal gospels to be recovered entire, it is important to assign some date to it. The earliest reference to it which we possess occurs in a homily on Luke which Origen wrote at Alexandria before 231, or else in the Refutation of his older contemporary Hippolytus. Since Hippolytus tells us that it was used by the Naassenes, it can be dated no later than the end of the second century. Unfortunately we cannot tell how much older it may have been, since no second-century writer makes use of it or refers to it. The parallels we find in such writers, orthodox and Gnostic alike, are not necessarily derived from this book. It is possible that, as some scholars hold, Thomas was written as early as 140. On the other hand, there seems to be no proof that it was not written a generation or two later.

The theology of Thomas is remarkably similar to that of the Naassenes (cf. Hippolytus, Ref 5, 7-8), though they seem to have used a form of the book somewhat different from the Coptic form; there are significant variations between Hippolytus’s quotations and Coptic sayings 4 and II. But we do not know the precise date or provenance of the Naassenes. They seem to have been an offshoot of the equally mysterious Ophites.

The name Didymus Judas Thomas may point towards Syria, where the Acts of Thomas originated, but the parallels with traditions and apocryphal books known to Clement and Origen suggest Alexandria instead. If this supposition is correct, Thomas sheds some light in the almost total darkness which surrounds Egyptian Christianity in the late second century.

Many of the sayings in the Gospel of Thomas are very much like those found in the four gospels, especially the synoptics. It is a question whether Thomas derived his synoptic-type sayings from the synoptic gospels as written documents or from oral traditions also used by the synoptic evangelists. Similarly, when Thomas makes use of sayings which are also found in such apocryphal gospels as those ‘according to the Hebrews’ (i, perhaps 12, 104) and ‘according to the Egyptians’ (22, 37, perhaps 61), we cannot be absolutely sure whether he was using written documents or some of their sources, perhaps including oral traditions. Some of the sayings which he relates are ascribed to oral tradition by the Church Fathers; others are to be found in Gnostic sources which the Fathers quote. If it can be shown that Thomas made use of the synoptic gospels in their present form it becomes fairly likely that he also employed apocryphal gospels in written form. The presence of a good deal of material transmitted orally, however, is not excluded.

It is hard to determine the precise relation of Thomas to oral and written sources because of the fluidity of the situation in second-century Christianity. Perhaps around 125, Papias knew some written gospels but stated his preference for oral traditions; by 150, Justin at Rome reflects a situation where written gospels have superseded most of the oral tradition; but even later at Alexandria oral traditions were still prominent, though tending to be confined to Gnostic groups. Among the Naassenes there was an emphasis on both written and oral materials. A quotation from them given by Hippolytus (Ref 5, 8,11) shows how by combining written materials they could produce the impression that they were relying on secret tradition. ‘Unless you drink my blood and eat my flesh (John 6:53-6), you will not enter into the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 5:20; 18:3); but if you drink the cup which I drink (Mark 10:38), where I go, there you cannot enter (John 8:21; 13:33).’ Analogously, the fact that parts of sayings in Thomas can be paralleled in several gospels does not prove that the author used a source earlier than them; it may well indicate simply that he was combining gospel words.

Some of the sayings in Thomas fairly plainly reflect his use of our gospels. Thus in saying 14, Jesus rejects fasting, prayer and almsgiving, and then says, ‘if you go into any land and wander in the regions, if they receive you, eat what is set before you, heal the sick among them; for what goes into your mouth will not defile you. . . .’ The ‘land’ and the ‘regions’ are Thomas’s substitute for the ‘city’ of Luke 10:8, a verse from which receiving and eating what is set before one are derived; ‘heal the sick among them’ comes from Luke 10:9, though in Thomas it is quite irrelevant to the subject of dietary laws, with which the rest of the saying is concerned (cf. Matt. 15:11). Presumably the first compiler was simply copying from Luke.

Sometimes Thomas separates sayings which in the synoptic gospels were combined. Thus in saying 65 he relates the parable of the vineyard (Mark 12:1-9 and parables; Thomas Omits the Old Testament allusions). In the synoptic gospels this parable is concluded with a mention of the cornerstone which the builders rejected (Mark 12:10 and parallels). Thomas turns this conclusion into a separate saying (66), again omitting a reference to the Old Testament.

Another way in which Thomas uses the synoptic tradition or, more probably, the synoptic gospels is by adding materials which make sayings of Jesus look more ‘Semitic’ because of their parallelism. ‘No prophet is acceptable in his village’ comes from Luke 4:24; Thomas balances the saying with the false addition, ‘no physician heals those who know him’ (31). Similarly, in Matt. 5:14 we read that ‘a city lying on a mountain cannot be hid.’ Thomas expands these words thus: ‘a city built on a high mountain and fortified cannot fall and cannot remain hidden’ (32). His addition is both confused and false.

The most probable conclusion to draw from passages of this sort is that either Thomas or earlier Gnostic tradition made use of the canonical gospels at points where we find parallels, and that there is no reason to suppose that any passage in Thomas (in spite of interesting textual variants) provides an earlier or a more reliable version of any saying of Jesus.

Some sayings in Thomas suggest that it, or part of it, arose in a Jewish-Christian environment. For example, Jesus tells his disciples that after he departs they will ‘go to James the Just, for whose sake heaven and earth came into existence’ (r 2). James the Just is prominent in the Gospel according to the Hebrews, but also among the Naassene Gnostics, who claimed to have traditions derived from him. As a whole, however, Thomas is radically anti-Jewish. If circumcision were ‘profitable’ (cf. Rom. 3:1), would be born circumcised (53); fasting, prayer, almsgiving and dietary observances -- the cardinal duties enjoined in Jewish piety -- are explicitly condemned (6:14). Jesus will destroy the temple in Jerusalem (71). All external rites are irrelevant; when Jesus speaks of fasting to the world and of keeping the Sabbath as Sabbath (27) he is speaking symbolically.

The goal, and in part the present possession, of the true believer is the Kingdom, also called the Kingdom of Heaven and the Kingdom of the Father. This Kingdom is not in heaven or (for that matter) in the sea; instead, it is within the Gnostic (cf. Luke 17:21) and the Gnostic is within it; he comes to it by knowledge of himself, i.e. of his true nature as a son of the Living Father (3). He enters it again because he has come from it (49), from the Light (50). The Kingdom is already spread out upon the earth, even though most men do not see it (113). In other words, Thomas has removed most of the eschatological element from Christian teaching. The Kingdom can be entered only when sexual distinctions have been overcome or obliterated. ‘When you make the two one, and when you make the inner as the outer and the outer as the inner and the upper as the lower, and when you make the male and the female into a single one, so that the male will not be male and the female will not be female . . . then you will enter the Kingdom’ (22). Such a process is equivalent to becoming like a child (37; 46); it means that women have to become male in order to enter the Kingdom (114). This notion, perhaps developed from Paul’s words in Galatians 3:28 (‘in Christ there is . . . neither male nor female’), is also found in apocryphal tradition reflected in II Clement 12:2 and in the Gospel of the Egyptians. Another picture of finding the Kingdom is set forth in terms apparently derived from the Gospel of the Hebrews. ‘Let him who seeks not cease seeking until he finds (cf. Matt. 7:7-8), and when he finds he will be troubled, and when he has been troubled he will marvel and will reign over the All’ (2; ‘trouble’ is not mentioned in Hebrews).

The place of Jesus in the system of Thomas is very high. He is, of course, the revealer of these secret sayings (and cf. 28). Simon Peter and Matthew presumably misunderstood him when they call him a ‘righteous angel’ and a ‘philosopher’; Thomas himself should not have called him ‘Master’ (13; cf. Mark 8:27-9; 10:17). Apparently he was not ‘born of woman’ (15, contrary to Gal. 4:4); he is either the Father or one with the Father. He is the Son of the Living One (37) and he is himself the Living One (52; 59). More than that, he tells his hearers, ‘I am the Light that is above them all, I am the All, the All came forth from me and the All attained to me. Cleave wood, I am there; lift up the stone and you will find me there’ (77). Even ‘God’ is subordinated to Jesus. ‘Give what is Caesar’s to Caesar, give what is God’s to God, and give what is mine to me’ (100; cf. Mark 12:17 and parallels). This may be the meaning of saying 30: ‘where there are three gods, they are [merely?] gods; where there are two or one, I am with him.’

In Thomas the Jewish and Christian doctrine of election is pushed to its Gnostic extreme. ‘I shall choose you, one out of a thousand and two out of ten thousand’ (23); the disciples are few in number (73-6; 107); only those who are worthy hear the mysteries or secrets (62). They are hated and persecuted (68-9); in turn, they hate father, mother, brothers, and sisters (55) though at the same time they either truly love their father and mother or else love their true, heavenly father and mother (101). In telling the parable of the dragnet (Matt. 13:47-8) Thomas therefore has to change its point entirely. In the parable, good and bad fish alike are retained until the last judgement; in Thomas, only one good fish is kept (8).

Along with sayings based on the gospels and on known Gnostic traditions, Thomas provides some highly mysterious materials which reflect his theology. One such item is found in saying 7: ‘Blessed is the lion which man eats and the lion will become man; and cursed is the man whom the lion eats and the man will become lion.’ This may mean that by killing and ‘eating’ the world the Gnostic overcomes it by assimilating it to himself; if the world eats the Gnostic he is, of course, vanquished. Again, in saying 11, we read that ‘on the days when you were eating that which is dead, you were making it as that which lives; when you come into the light, what will you do?’ The Gnostic consumes dead matter and makes it live, but when he comes into the light he will have nothing to do with matter. ‘Whoever has known the world has known a corpse, and whoever has found a corpse, of him the world is not worthy’ (56; cf. 80). The ‘corpse’ here seems to be the inner, spiritual man who has died to the world, as in Naassene theology.

The principal problems raised by the existence and nature of the apocryphal gospels -- especially Thomas -- concern the historical and theological value of traditions not preserved in the canonical gospels. A priori it is quite possible that ‘apocryphal’ traditions can be valuable historically. As Jerome suggested, there may be gold in the mud. It may be possible to show, however, that (1) sayings reported in Thomas but not in the canonical gospels reflect special (e.g., Gnostic) tendencies, while (2) sayings reported in Thomas and in the canonical gospels have come from the canonical gospels to Thomas. Admittedly, absolutely convincing proof cannot be provided in all instances. It may be that sometimes Thomas uses written sources, sometimes oral. But it should be added that since the norms for determining authenticity must lie in the canonical gospels, it is hard to see what contribution apocryphal gospels could make even if some of the materials in them should be judged genuine. It should also be said that their theological outlook can be of great assistance in dealing with the history of doctrine, but that since the Church generally rejected them at an early date (see Chapter 1) they illuminate byways or alternatives rather than the main roads of Christian thought.

Chapter 11 The Gospel of John

The earliest evidence for the existence of the Fourth Gospel or, at any rate, of the distinctive ideas of its author, is provided in the letters of Ignatius, bishop of Antioch about 115. The gospel itself was used by the Gnostic teacher Basilides, early in the second century at Alexandria, and from the same period comes a tiny papyrus fragment containing several verses of John 18. Orthodox teachers like Justin made use of the gospel at Rome, and wall paintings in the Roman catacombs (c. 175) portray Johannine themes. The earliest ‘commentaries’ on John which we know, come from Ptolemaeus and Heracleon, disciples of the Christian Gnostic Valentinus; both of them ascribed the book to John, the disciple of Jesus.

In the late second century a few orthodox writers, reacting against Montanist use of John, denied that he had written the book, but most Christians agreed with Theophilus that it was written by an inspired author and with Irenacus that this author was John, author of the book of Revelation and teacher of Polycarp of Smyrna. The fact that in Polycarp’s extant letter or letters there is only one possible allusion to the gospel does not prove that he did not know the book. It is a question, however, whether or not the gospel and the Apocalypse were written by the same author. Dionysius, bishop of Alexandria (c. 250), argued that considerations of vocabulary, style and thought prove that there were two authors.

After the end of the second century, however, no Christian author doubted that the gospel was written by an apostle; only in modern times has the question been raised again, chiefly because of the differences between John and the synoptic gospels either individually or as a group. We shall consider these differences as we examine Johannine vocabulary, style and thought.

Vocabulary and Style

The Gospel of John contains 15,240 words, only 1,011 of them different. Of these, 112 do not occur in any other New Testament book. In proportion to its size, the gospel employs the smallest vocabulary in the New Testament; even the book of Revelation reflects a higher proportion of vocabulary to total number of words (9.3 per cent against 6.5 per cent).

Especially characteristic of the gospel’s vocabulary are words bearing upon the meaning of Jesus’ revelation. There are 120 references to God as ‘Father’ (only sixty-four in all three synoptics), only three of them qualified by adjectives (‘living’, 6.57; ‘holy’, 17.11; ‘righteous’, 17.25). The Father is often identified as ‘he who sent me’ (twenty-six times). John usually speaks of ‘Jesus’, but the terms ‘Son’ (nineteen times), ‘Son of Man’ (thirteen times), and ‘Son of God’ (seven times) also occur. The most common way of indicating the significance of Jesus, however, is in the use of the nominative personal pronoun ‘I’ (120 times). The most important use of ‘I’ occurs in the expression ‘I am’ with a predicate noun.

I am the bread of life (6:35, 41, 48, 51)

I am the light of the world (8:12)

I am the door of the sheep (10:7, 9)

I am the good shepherd (10:11, 14)

I am the resurrection and life (11:25)

I am the way, truth, and life (14:6)

I am the true vine (15:1, 5)

There are also significant verbs of revealing used with ‘I’, for example ‘I know’ (141 times), ‘I bear witness’ (thirty-three times), ‘I speak’ (thirty times), ‘I glorify’ (twenty-one times), and ‘I make manifest’ (nine times). The response of the believer is indicated especially by ‘I believe’ (100 times) and ‘I behold’ (twenty-three times).

The nature of Jesus’ revelation is intimated by ‘truth’ (true, truly, a total of fifty-five times), by ‘life’ in a special sense (thirty-six times), and by ‘light’ (twenty-two times). Revelation and response are combined in ‘love’ (noun and verbs, fifty-seven times), and the response of ‘abiding’ or ‘remaining’ is found forty times.

The spiritual environment of the Incarnation is reflected in the word ‘world’ (‘kosmos’, seventeen times), often co-ordinated with ‘the Jews’ (sixty-eight times). John mentions a Jewish feast seventeen times, and speaks of ‘your law’ three times.

There are also favourite words which point towards John’s conception of history: ‘not yet’ (‘oupo’, eight times in a ‘theological’ sense), two words for ‘now’ (about thirty times: ‘arti’ and ‘nun’). He also employs several words for dealing with spiritual origins: ‘whence’ (‘pothen’, thirteen times) and ‘whither’ (‘pou’, about twelve times), ‘from above’ (five times) and ‘from below’ (once); similarly, he contrasts heaven with earth.

For the sake of comparison with the synoptics, it may be added that the following words never occur in John, though fairly common in the other gospels: (1) ‘Christian’ words: apostles, baptism, gospel, repent, repentance, inherit; (2) ‘Sociological’ words: adultery, demons (exorcisms), divorce, rich, Sadducee, scribe, tax collector. To these should be added words which, though common in the synoptics, are very infrequent in John: (1) cross, crucify, forgive, kingdom, save; (2) blaspheme, blasphemy, marry, marriage, poor, priest, synagogue. Whatever the historical situations of John and the synoptics may be, they are rather different from each other. Perhaps one might say that the synoptic gospels are more concerned with social and historical matters, while John is concerned with theology.

Specialists in Aramaic have often argued that John’s gospel was translated from that language. As criteria of proof they have used (1) obscurities which can be explained as misunderstood Aramaic, and (2) bad Greek which may be due to poor translation. Their use of these criteria was undercut in 1931 by E. C. Colwell (The Greek of the Fourth Gospel), who showed that the passages were not very obscure and that the Greek was characteristic of the Koiné. Furthermore, different Aramaists retranslate differently. John may have written in Aramaic; but the case has not been proved.

John is fond of varying his Greek words where he intends to convey the same meanings. For example, three different words are used for ‘go away’ in John 16:5-10, two for ‘love’ in 21:15-17 (cf. 14:21 and 16:27), and three for ‘grieve’ in 16:20-2. Two different words for ‘ear’ are used in John 18:10 and 26, two for ‘keep’ in 17:12. Lists of ‘Johannine synonyms’ can easily be constructed. Similarly, when the Johannine Christ says, ‘As I told you before,’ comparison of what he has previously said with what he says now will reveal that the two sayings are almost never verbally identical. This feature shows John’s fondness for variation.

At the same time, John likes to use a single expression with various meanings; sometimes he seems to be indicating that there is not only an obvious or ‘surface’ meaning but also a deeper significance. This characteristic of his writing occurs not only in the discourses with Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman and in relation to the Feeding of the Five Thousand, but also in conversations with the disciples. John is suggesting that the meaning of Jesus was not exhausted by the interpretations of his person and message which were given by his contemporaries, just as the Darkness did not ‘grasp’ the Light (1:5). Much of the teaching of Jesus was ambiguous. When he spoke of the temple he really referred to his body (2:19-21). He said that a man must be born ‘again’ (‘from above’) of water and the Spirit (3:3-5); and the word ‘pneuma’ means both ‘spirit’ and ‘wind’ (3:8). To be ‘lifted up’ (3:14) means both to be exalted (8:28; 12:32-4) and to be crucified (18:32). ‘Water’ means one thing to the Samaritan woman, another to Jesus (4:7-11). He alone understands the deeper meaning of ‘going away’ (7:35; 8:21; 13:33-6), of being blind and then seeing (9:39-41), of the sleep of death (11:4, 11-15), and of resurrection (11:23-6). And in this gospel even the high priest delivers an ambiguous prediction (11:50-2; cf. 18:14) and Pilate involuntarily testifies to the significance of Jesus (19:5, 14-15).

Sometimes, on the other hand, John seems to indicate different shades of meaning by the use of different, though related, words. He seems to hint that the verb ‘hypagein’ does not mean simply ‘to go’ but is especially concerned with Christ’s going to the Father (7:35; 8:21; 13:33, 36). Similarly the ordinary words ‘erchesthai’, ‘to come’, and ‘poreuesthai’, ‘to go’, are used chiefly of coming from and going to heaven, while the compound verbs meaning ‘to come from’ and ‘to go to’ are more frequently related to movement in the world. Special meanings seem to be reserved for ‘anabainein’, ‘to go up’ (to Jerusalem, to the temple, to festivals, to heaven), for ‘katabainein’, ‘to go down’ (to Capernaum for a healing, from heaven), and for ‘metabainein’, ‘to cross’ (from death to life, from the world to the Father; once to Judaea). These words are important because so much of John’s thought is related to ‘up’ and ‘down’, ‘above’ and ‘below’, ‘heaven’ and ‘the world’. The true disciples know where Jesus came from and where he goes; they are ‘born from above’ and will ascend after him.

It is not certain how far John’s use of words is systematic, although Origen may have been right in believing that John regarded Judaea, Jerusalem, the temple and festivals as symbols of heaven, Galilee and Capernaum as symbols of the world. If he regarded them as symbols, he did not mean that they were ‘merely’ symbols. If they were symbols, they were, so to speak, incarnate symbols.

Thought

If we consider the purpose or purposes of the evangelist in so far as we can infer them from his book itself, we clearly find that he writes in order to inspire and to confirm faith in Jesus as the Christ, the Son of God, so that readers may have true life ‘in his name’ on the ground of this faith (20:30-1). What he writes consists of ‘signs’ which Jesus performed in his disciples’ presence, and he has made a selection from the many signs of Jesus because he believes that the ones recorded are essential. They include the transformation of water into wine (2:11) and the healing of a royal officer’s son (4:54) both at Cana in Galilee; but there arc many others, which during Jesus’ ministry did not inevitably result in faith (12:37). The picture which John sets forth is thus different from that found in the synoptic gospels, where Jesus denies that any sign will be given to his generation (Mark 8:12) --at any rate, none except ‘the sign of Jonah’ (Matt. 12:39-40; 16:8; Luke 11:29-30). According to Paul (I Cor. 1.22), ‘signs’ are sought for by Jews, not by Christians. According to John, even the high priests and the Pharisees recognize that Jesus performed signs (11:47). (Sometimes a deeper meaning for ‘sign’ is indicated, as in John 6:26.)

The evangelist is concerned with pointing out that John the Baptist ‘did no sign’ (10:41). Here we encounter one of his most important interests. The Baptist was not the Light but a witness to the Light (1:7). He was not the Christ (1:20; 3:28); he was not the returning Elijah (1:21; contrast Matt. 11:14), nor yet ‘the prophet’ foretold by Moses (1:21), for this prophet is Jesus (6:14; 7:40). John pointed towards Jesus as really prior to himself (1:15, 27, 30); he recognized him as the Lamb of God (1:29, 36), and he said that as Jesus increased so he himself must diminish (3:30). At least two of his disciples, including Andrew, became disciples of Jesus (1:35-40). Now in Acts 19:1-8 we find evidence for the existence of ‘Johannine’ Christians, and in the Clementine Recognitions (fourth century) we read of disciples of the Baptist who regarded him as the Christ. This outside evidence, scanty though it is, confirms our impression that the evangelist is dealing with the real problem presented by those who revered the Baptist more highly than Jesus. This feature of his gospel suggests that it was written at a relatively early date. The Clementine Recognitions are, of course, late; but at many points they make use of early Jewish-Christian traditions, usually heterodox in character.

John is also concerned with the temple and its ritual. The synoptists place the cleansing of the temple just before the passion narrative; John makes it early and insists that the true temple is the body of Jesus (2:13-22). True worship is ‘in spirit and truth’, not limited to Jerusalem or Samaria (4:20-4). The festivals at Jerusalem are described as ‘of the Jews’ (5:1; 7:2; 11:55); similarly the law (as law) is assigned to them. Indeed, while in the synoptics Jesus eats the paschal meal with his disciples, in John 18:28 it is made plain that the time for the meal came after his arrest and crucifixion. In some respects John’s attitude resembles that of the Dead Sea covenanters. His freedom from the law is balanced by insistence that ‘the scripture cannot be broken’ (10:35) and the treatment of the Mosaic writings as really written about Jesus (5:46).

Among the most important features of John’s thought is his view of Jesus as the incarnate Word of God (1:14), one with the Father (10:30); he who has seen Jesus has seen the Father (14:9). He is the Revealer-Redeemer who comes down from the heavenly Father and returns to him. Along with this Concentration upon the person and work of Christ goes a revaluation of eschatology. Emphasis is placed not so much on the return of Christ and the last judgement as on the presence of Christ and the Holy Spirit and on judgement already begun in present life. In regard to Christology and eschatology the point of view of John is somewhat different from that of the synoptic evangelists.

John and The Synoptics

We have already referred to many differences between John and the synoptic gospels. The most important of them is probably that of the order in which events are related, especially events located in or near Jerusalem. According to the synoptics, the public ministry of Jesus consisted of journeys about Galilee and one journey to Jerusalem; according to John, he frequently visited the city. According to the synoptics, he cleansed the temple shortly before being crucified; according to John, he did so early in his ministry. The possibilities, historically speaking, are these: (1) either John or the synoptics, or (2) neither John nor the synoptics. If we may assume that the details of the ‘triumphal entry’ are significant, and that they point towards the Feast of Tabernacles, we may conclude that both John and the synoptic evangelists have transferred an event which originally occurred at Tabernacles to the Feast of Passover -- or, more probably, that their predecessors did so. Alternatively, we may assume that the actual feast was not remembered and that those who transmitted the traditional accounts felt free to place the event where they pleased.

There are also many details in which John agrees with the synoptic gospels, and we might suppose that such parallels would clearly indicate John’s relative earliness or lateness. Such is not the case. All the evidence is ambiguous, and three possibilities remain open. (1) John did not know either the synoptic traditions or the synoptic gospels, but used independent traditions. (2) John knew some synoptic traditions and used them in his gospel. (3) John knew some or all of the synoptic gospels but consciously rewrote his sources in order to (a) interpret them or (b) supplement them or (c) supplant them. There are no reliable grounds for making a decision.

If we pass back to historical considerations it can be argued that the synoptic gospels fairly reliably reflect the Galilean-Judaean background of Jesus’ ministry as well as the exorcisms, parables and message of the kingdom with which he was concerned; all these features are minimized in John. On the other hand, in John we find a thought-world which in some respects resembles that of the Essenes of Qumran (see Chapter XVIII). It can be claimed, then, that the differences are due not to a ‘development’ from original, Jewish ideas to something else but to the reflection of two (or more) different kinds of Judaism. The fact that John speaks in a hostile way about ‘the Jews’, while the synoptic evangelists pay more attention to smaller groups and to individuals, does not prove that he is not Jewish. The Qumran sectarians similarly criticized the ‘orthodox’. Moreover, criticism of ‘the Jews’ is not necessarily even late. It is found in I Thessalonians 2:15 and in early sermons in Acts (2:23, 3:15, etc.). On specific literary and historical grounds, then, it cannot be proved that John is either earlier or later than the synoptic gospels.

The only grounds on which this point can definitely be ‘proved’ lie in a general theory of the development of early Christian thought, and the chief support of this theory is provided by the Gospel itself. Since the argument is circular we shall do well to neglect it.

Interpolations and Sources

Especially in the twentieth century, scholars have pointed to difficulties in the Gospel of John which suggest that (1) it is not in order as it stands, (2) it has been interpolated by an editor, and (3) either the editor or the author made use of earlier sources which can be detected. It need hardly be said that such theories are not altogether new. Origen was well aware of some of the difficulties, and he used them to support his claim that the evangelist was concerned with spiritual truths rather than with historical events. The modern goal, however, is usually to give a literary-historical explanation of the phenomena.

(1) Proof that the Gospel is not in order is provided quite tellingly by Rudolf Bultmann.(Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart [ed. 3, 1959], III, 840-1.) (a) According to John 6:1, ‘after this Jesus went away to the other side of the sea of Galilee’; but according to the preceding chapter he was in Jerusalem. If chapter 5 follows chapter 6, everything falls into place. (b) Similarly, John 7:15-24 is incomprehensible in its present location; it belongs with the discussion in chapter 5, perhaps at the end; and in this case 7:1-14 goes with 7:25ff. (c) John 10:19-21 must be the ending of a longer section dealing with opening the eyes of a blind man; it therefore goes with chapter 9, while 10:1-18 goes with 10:27-9. (d) John 12:44-50 has no relation to its context; it too goes with chapter 9. (e) Something is wrong with the order of John 13-17, for 14:30-1 leads directly to the passion narrative (‘arise, let us go hence’) although three chapters of discourses follow. Chapters 15-17 must therefore originally have preceded chapter 14 (or, rather, 13:36-14:31).

If these points be granted -- and it is difficult to deny their force -- we must admit that the Gospel has been disarranged. The only question that remains is concerned with the extent of the disarrangement.

(2) The question of the activity of an editor is more difficult to decide. What criteria are to be employed? Siegfried Mendner has listed four: (a) pedantic dependence on the synoptic gospels, (b) unpoetic inadequacy in word or thought, (c) unrealistic or unhistorical statements, and (d) compositional difficulties and contradictions.(Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 47 [1956], 108.) Not all of these criteria possess equal force. The original author may have had difficulties, may sometimes have failed to write poetically, and may not have known or been concerned with historical events. As we have already suggested, we do not know whether or not he employed the synoptic traditions or gospels.

Bultmann differentiates late glosses from the work of the editor. He finds that the presence of glosses is often indicated by their being omitted in some manuscripts or versions. These glosses include John 7:53-8:11 (omitted by all ancient witnesses), 5:4 (omitted by most early manuscripts), and the following phrases omitted by some witnesses:

6:23 when the Lord gave thanks

13:10 except the feet

14:30 many things

16:16 because I go to the Father.

In addition, Bultmann treats as glosses the following expressions which break the continuity of thought or produce confusion in a sentence:

2:15 the sheep and the oxen

4:1 the Lord knew that

4:11 you have no dipper and the well is deep (too obvious)

21:20 following, who also reclined at the supper on his bosom and said, Lord, who is it who betrays you?

After these glosses have been removed, we have the gospel in the shape in which it left the hand of an ecclesiastical editor, late in the first century or early in the second. From this form of the work, then, we must go on to remove items which were added in order to make the gospel conform to late first-century sacramental views or synoptic eschatology or history. The editor had the double purpose of making the work harmonize with church life and with the Church’s gospels.

Proof of the existence of this editor is provided first of all by noticing the most obvious additions he has made. The Gospel clearly comes to an end in 20:30-1; we must therefore assume that chapter 21 is an addition. Furthermore, the poetic style of the prologue is interrupted by prosaic verses which refer to John the Baptist (1:6-8, 15; cf. 1:30). Therefore we can go on to discover other additions which break the formal continuity of the book or produce contradictions.

‘Synoptic’ sayings 1:22-5, 32; 7:20-1; 11:2; perhaps 13:16, 20; also ‘John had not yet been imprisoned’ (3:24, attempt to correlate with the synoptics)

Contradiction 4:2 ‘And yet John himself did not baptize, but his disciples did’ (contradicts 3:22)

‘Mechanical’ fulfillment 18:9 ‘In order that the word . . . might be fulfilled’; also 18:32.

The editor was not concerned with synoptic tradition alone. lie was anxious to relate the gospel to the sacramental teaching of the Church and to its eschatology. Therefore he added 6:51b-58 in order to correlate the bread of life with the Eucharist, and 19:34b-35 to show that both baptism and Eucharist were established by the death of Jesus. In addition, he inserted the words ‘water and’ in a reference to birth from the Spirit (3:5); the parallel in John 3.3 speaks of birth ‘from above’. Water is irrelevant. As for eschatology, the true Johannine view involves present realization alone. ‘The hour comes and now is’ (4:23; 5:25). ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die’ (11:25 -6; cf. also 3:18-19; 9:39). The editor is responsible for additions which speak of resurrection and judgement as future (5:28-9) or of a future gift by the Son of Man (6:27), or refer to ‘the last day’ (6:39, 40, 44, 54; 12:48). His view is the Jewish eschatological view expressed by Martha in John 11:24 (‘I know that he will rise in the resurrection at the last day’) and corrected by Jesus.

The points about sacramental teaching and eschatology obviously depend upon a prior assumption that in the evangelist’s thought water had nothing to do with birth from above and the bread of life was not related to the Eucharist; similarly his eschatology must have been either futurist or realized. The question, then, must be raised whether or not the evangelist’s mind worked as clearly and sharply as does that of a modern literary critic. When Bultmann deletes ‘water and’ largely on the ground that other critics of the liberal school have done so, his argument is not very convincing.

It should be said, however, that the attempt to disprove Bultmann’s claims by pointing to the unity of John’s grammar, syntax and vocabulary is not convincing either. An editor who believed that it was important to revise John’s work would surely have had some acquaintance with his mode of expression. Moreover, the essence of style, whether ancient or modern, is a certain variety along with some measure of uniformity. No author uses nothing but formulas.

But this variety in thought and word leads us to suspect not only the argument based on Johannine unity but also the argument for the existence of the editor. It remains quite possible that the mysterious editor was also the author of the gospel, although he probably did not leave his work in precisely the form in which we have it. To an editor or to editors we should hesitate to ascribe much more than John 21:24-5, the last verses of the book:

This is the disciple who bears witness of these things, and wrote these things; and we know that his testimony is true. And there are also many other things which Jesus did; if all of them should be written, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that might be written.

Sources

It is fairly clear that the opening verses of the Gospel are somewhat different in atmosphere from the rest of the book. This fact has been taken to show that the author was revising an earlier hymn or poem to the creative Word of God, but such an inference is not necessary. He may well have composed the prologue specifically for use in the gospel.

In addition, critics have argued that he made use of a book of ‘signs’ or significant miracles, and that he reinterpreted the contents of this book for his own purposes. To the ‘sign book’ Bultmann and others have added special sources consisting of sayings which originally came not from Jesus but from some Gnostic group, perhaps disciples of John the Baptist.

The difficulty with this source analysis lies in the fact that, as Charles Goodwin has pointed out, when John uses a source we can check on -- the Old Testament -- he does so very allusively. If we did not possess the Old Testament verses to which he alludes we could not reconstruct them. Therefore we cannot reconstruct his other sources, whatever they may have been.(‘How did John treat his Sources?’ -- Journal of Biblical literature, 73 [1954], 61-75).

Indeed, unless we have the benefit of a genetic theory of the development of Christian thought, we might even suppose that in his gospel he combined memories of what he had seen and heard with interpretations based on these memories. Presumably revelation, or encounter in general, involves response, and in the absence of photography and tape-recording John was likely to write down what Jesus meant to him rather than to paste together sources which he did not quite understand.

We are left, then, with some very general conclusions which do not greatly assist us in dealing with the gospel. It was written, probably in Greek and not much later than 70, perhaps in Asia Minor. It presents a portrait of Jesus different from the general synoptic picture. According to a tradition certainly in existence by the middle of the second century, its author was John, the disciple of Jesus -- perhaps the son of Zebedee. The difficulty with identifying this John with the author of Revelation is that there are conspicuous differences in vocabulary, style and theological ideas. Perhaps there has been some confusion between the two; perhaps both came from the same area and belonged to the same ‘school’; but any definite conclusion runs into difficulties.

Was the author a disciple of Jesus? If the synoptics are taken as the norm for the life of Jesus -- and the traditions in them seem to underlie later New Testament books as John’s do not -- we may wonder how a disciple could have written as John does. But it is worth observing that the ‘beloved disciple’ often identified as John comes on the scene only in or near Jerusalem in this book. Perhaps his ‘historical’ memories were concerned chiefly with what took place at the end of Jesus’ ministry; and in any event it is obvious that he regards remembering as related to the creative work of the Spirit (2:22; 12:16; 14:26). Again, if he is somehow related to the Dead Sea community and its fate after the monastery was destroyed in 68, some of his special emphases can be explained in relation to the audience which he hoped to win for Jesus.

We conclude that the author was probably not the son of Zebedee but a Jerusalem disciple of Jesus who wrote his gospel around the time of the Roman-Jewish war of 66-70 (probably not long after it) in order to present faith in Christ to bewildered and distressed Jewish sectarians. These sectarians lived either in Palestine itself or in the Dispersion.

Appendix: Bultmann’s Rearrangement of John

Prologue (1.1-18)

The testimony of John the Baptist (1.19-51)

I. The Revelation of the Glory before the World (2-12)

Preliminary revelation (2.1-22)

A. The Encounter with the Revealer (2.23-4.22)

1. Jesus and the teachers of Israel

(2.23-3.21; 3.31-6; 3.22-30)

2. Jesus in Samaria (4.1-42)

B. The Revelation as Judgement

1. Healing of the royal officer’s son (4.43-54.)

2. The Bread of Life (6.1-59)

3. TheJudge (5.1-47; 7.15-24; 8.13-20)

C. The Revealer in Conflict with the World

1. The hiddenness and contingency of revelation

(7.1-14; 7.25-9; 8.48-50; 8.54-5; 7.30; 7.37-44; 7.31-6; 7.45-52)

2. A fragment (8.41-7; 8.51-3; 8.56-9)

3. The Light of the World

(9.1-41; 8.12; 12.44-50; 8.21-9; 12.34-6; 10.19-21)

4. The Good Shepherd (10.22-6; 10.11-13; 10.1-10;

10.14-18; 10.27-30)

5. Conclusion (10.31-9)

D. The Revealer’s Secret Victory over the World (10.40-12.43)

1. The decree of death (10.40-2; 11.1-54)

2. The way of the cross (11.55-12.33; 8.30-40; 6.60-71)

3. Conclusion (12.37-43)

II. The Revelation of the Glory before the Community (13-20)

A. The departure of the Revealer (13.1-17.26)

1. The Last Supper (13.1-30)

2. The Farewell Prayer (13.1; 17.1-26)

3. Farewell discourses and sayings (13.31-16.33)

a. Departure and empowering (13.31-5; 15.1-17)

b. The community in the world (15.18-16.11)

c .The future of believers as esehatological situation

(16.12-33)

d. Communion with Son and Father (13.36-14.31)

B. Passion Narrative and Easter (18.1-20.29)

C. Conclusion of the Gospel (20.30-1)

Appendix: Bultmann’s ‘Sayings-Source’

The Logos 1.1-5, 9-12, 14, 16

Flesh and Spirit 3.6, 8, 11-13, 18, 20-1, 32-6

The Water of Life 7.37-8; 4.13-14

The Bread of Life 6.27, 35, 48, 47, 44-5, 37

Father, Son, and Eternal Life 5.17, 19-21, 24-5; 11.25

The Glory 5.31-2, 39-44; 7.16-18; 8.14, 16, 19; 7.7, 28-9; 8.50, 54-5; 7.33-4; 8.43, 42, 44, 47,45,46,51

The Light of the World 8.12; 12.44-5; 9.39; 12.47-50; 8.23, 28-9; 9.5,4; 11.9-10; 12.35-6

The Shepherd-Door 10.11-12, 1,4,8, 10, 14-15, 27-30, 9

The Coming of the Hour 12.27-8, 23, 31-2

Freedom through Truth 8.31-2, 34-5, 38

The Revelation of Glory 17.1, 4-6, 9-17; 13.31-2

The Vine and the Branches 15.1-2, 4-6, 9-10, 16

Departure of the Revealer / Arrival of the Paraclete 15.18-20, 22, 24, 26; 16.8, 12-14, 16, 20, 22-4, 28; 14.1-7, 9, 14, 16-19, 26-7 (18.37?)

Chapter 10:<B> </B>The Gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts

Since many have undertaken to draw up an account concerning the events which have taken place among us, as those who from the beginning were eye-witnesses and ministers of the matter delivered (accounts of them) to us, it seemed good also to me, since I followed all of them carefully from the beginning, to write an orderly account for your excellency, Theophilus, so that you might possess accurate knowledge about the matters concerning which you have been informed.

With this preface, characteristic of the writings of Graeco-Roman historians and would-be historians, the author begins the first of his two volumes which deal with the life of Jesus and the continuation of his mission in the spread of the gospel from Jerusalem to Rome. The preface marks a higher level of literary culture than almost anything else in the New Testament (with the exception of the Epistle to the Hebrews, in antiquity Sometimes ascribed to the same author). It differs from ordinary prefaces because it does not state who the author is; it resembles them in its statements about (1) the occasion of the work, (2) its reliance on trustworthy materials, and (3) its insistence upon the competence of the author. It is thus evident that the author intends to write a history.

His history, however, is not an ordinary one, since he proceeds from the good Greek style of his preface directly into an account of the miraculous conceptions of John the Baptist and his distant relative Jesus and makes use of a Semitizing style full of reminiscences of the Septuagint. The break is so sharp that scholars have often supposed that he is making use of different sources and not troubling to make them over. Such a conclusion is unwarranted, however, for (1) since Luke writes as a historian he evidently possessed some training in grammar and rhetoric, and therefore had learned to write in various styles, and (2) he varies his own style in accordance with the situation; in Acts his style becomes more ‘classical’ as the gospel is brought closer to Rome.

Furthermore, it should be stated that he was almost certainly unaware of the modern distinction between ‘faith’ and ‘history’. In his view faith and history worked together, and one way of propagating the faith was to state what the history had been. This is not to say that he was always reliably informed, or that -- any more than modern historians -- he always presented a severely factual account of events. It does mean that he believed that the events, if represented accurately and in order, at least pointed in the direction of the Christian gospel.

Who was the author? The oldest discussion of this question is also the classical one. Irenaeus (c. 180) began, as all critics must begin, with Acts (Adv. haer. 3, 14, 1). (1) The author of the ‘we-passages’ in Acts, presumably from a travel diary, went with Paul to Troas and Macedonia (Acts 16:8-17); he sailed with him back to Troas (20:5-15) and thence to Jerusalem and Rome (21:1-18; 27:1-28:16). (2) Luke alone was with Paul later (II Tim. 4:11); he was a ‘beloved physician’ in prison with Paul, presumably at Rome (Col. 4:11). (3) Therefore the author of Luke-Acts was Luke. Further identifications were provided later; thus Origen (early third century) thought he was the Lucius of Romans 16:21, while Ephraim Syrus (fourth century) identified him with the Lucius of Cyrene mentioned in Acts 13:1. The reliability of this proof obviously depends on several prior assumptions: (1) Paul must have written Colossians, and from Rome. (2) The tradition reflected in II Timothy must be trustworthy. Others have attempted to support these arguments by claiming that Luke makes use of ‘medical language’, but H.J. Cadbury has shown that his writings do not reflect the details about ailments and their cures which are found in medical writings, that apart from such details there was no medical language in antiquity, and finally -- by a reductio ad absurdum -- that the arguments used to show that Luke was a physician could prove that he was a veterinary.

On balance we should incline to accept the argument of Irenaeus and to assume that it was intended to confirm a prior belief rather than to introduce a new hypothesis. It should be said, however, that the question of the author’s name is not as important as the question of the author’s purpose; the latter question can be answered only from his writings.

It has sometimes been claimed that Luke cannot have been a companion of Paul because in neither the gospel nor the Acts is there any trace of the specifically Pauline doctrines to be found in the major epistles. This claim neglects the extent to which it is possible to associate and work with others without necessarily sharing all their concerns; in other words, it fails to do justice either to the variety to be found within the unity of modern Christianity or to that within the early Church.

In the Gospel of Luke there are 19,400 words and, in Acts, 13,380. The vocabulary of the Gospel includes 2,055 words; that of Acts, 2,038. In the Gospel there are 261 words not found elsewhere in the New Testament; in Acts, 413. (Taking the two books together, their vocabulary consists of 2,700 words.)

Among Luke’s favourite expressions in the Gospel are the following: the imperfect verb ‘egeneto’ (‘it happened . . .’) with ‘and’ or with a finite verb or with an infinitive. He also employs the preposition ‘in’ with an article and an infinitive to indicate that something was done or said while something else was going on. Events often take place ‘in the presence of’ (‘enopion’) persons. In this way he demonstrates his concern with historical connections and historical witnesses. In improving the style of Mark he often uses a more ‘literary’ word for ‘immediately’ (‘parachrema’ for Mark’s ‘euthus’).

The ‘formulas’ he uses are less striking than those of Matthew, but it is worth noting that he speaks of an ‘only’ (‘monogenes’) son or daughter’s being healed, three times (7:12, 8:42, 9:38), and sometimes begins parables with ‘what man’ (15:4) or ‘what woman’ (15:8), or ‘a certain man’ (10:30, 12:16; 14:16, 15:11, 16:1, 19; 19:12).( Parables like these occur only in two instances in Matthew, where they are introduced differently).

We can see something of Luke’s viewpoint when we consider his use of his principal source, the Gospel of Mark. (Fortunately we possess this source and therefore are not reduced to pure conjecture.) Luke uses Mark in large blocks, instead of interspersing it with other materials as Matthew’s practice was; usually, though not always, he retains the order of Mark. Sometimes he anticipates something which Mark mentions later, and thus it appears that he read large sections of Mark, and perhaps the whole gospel, before writing his own Section to correspond to it.

In general his use of Mark can be summarized thus:

Luke 1-2 non-Marcan

3:1-6:19 mostly Mark (1:2-3.19; 6:1-6)

6:20 - 8:3 non-Marcan

8:4- 9:50 Mark (3:31-9:41,omitting 6:17-29;6:45-8:26)

9:51-18:14 non-Marcan

18:15-24:11 Mark (10:13-16:8)

24:13-53 on-Marcan

He improves Mark’s style by omitting repetitious words and clauses; he omits expressions which attribute human emotions to Jesus (so also Matthew); he severely abridges the account of a violent action such as the cleansing of the temple. In the words of Cadbury, ‘the conduct of Jesus’ disciples and friends towards him in Mark can easily be improved on, and Luke improves it.’

Such observations may point towards an explanation of Luke’s omission of Salome’s dance in the story of the death of John the Baptist, but they do not indicate why he dropped a whole block of materials from Mark (6:45-8:26). It is most unlikely that Luke began cutting out materials with the story of walking on water because he found it incredible. While ancient standards of credibility were largely personal, the rest of Luke’s writings does not suggest that he would have found this story difficult to believe. It has been suggested that the copy of Mark which he used did not contain this section -- either because there was an ‘original Mark’ to which it had not been added as yet, or because somehow some leaves had fallen out of the papyrus codex and Luke either did not notice their absence or did not /could not obtain them. Such theories possess all the fascination of the absolute -- in this case, the absolutely hypothetical. We may suggest that Luke, as astute as most modern historians, observed that the materials in Mark 6:45-8:26 add little or nothing to what he could obtain either from other passages in Mark or from other materials available to him; he therefore chose to omit them. He could see that they were somewhat repetitious.

Luke was concerned with writing history. For this reason he attached to the public ministry of John and Jesus an elaborate synchronism (for which there are parallels in Greek historians and Josephus), dating the coming of the word of God to John the Baptist in the fifteenth year of Tiberius Caesar (AD. 28-9), when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judaea (26 -- 36), Herod tetrarch of Galilee (4 BC. -AD. 39), Philip his brother tetrarch of Iturea and Trachonitis (4 BC.-AD. 34), Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene (doubtful date), and when Annas and Caiaphas were high priest (3:1-2). This notice illustrates Luke’s desire to set the gospel narrative in the context of world history; it also reflects a certain lack of familiarity with Jewish affairs, for only Caiaphas was high priest at the time (though his father-in-law Annas doubtless retained the title honorarily). Another difficulty occurs in his story of the birth of Jesus, which he dates both ‘in the days of King Herod’ (1:5, before 4 BC.) and in relation to a census under Quirinius, governor of Syria, in AD. 6 (2:2). Various attempts have been made to clear up this apparent contradiction by postulating an earlier Roman census in Palestine, but it cannot be said that they have been entirely successful.

Luke was concerned with the historical setting of the mission of John and Jesus. He is the only evangelist to report John’s counsel to tax-collectors and soldiers (3:12-14). He apparently cannot agree with Mark that the tetrarch Herod would suppose that John had risen from the dead, so he ascribes this opinion to others (9:7-9) He realizes that the beginning of Jesus’ mission, as Mark relates it, is historically incomprehensible, and he therefore tells how Jesus read from Isaiah in the synagogue at Nazareth and stated that the prophecy had been fulfilled (4:21). In his view, Mark’s passion narrative did not adequately emphasize ‘non-theological factors’, and he therefore lists the precise charges brought against Jesus: he was overturning the nation, forbidding the payment of taxes to Caesar, and calling himself an anointed king (23:2). Since Jesus was a Galilean, he must have been investigated by Herod (23:6-12). And for the centurion’s recognition of Jesus as ‘son of God’ (Mark 15:39) he substitutes his acknowledgment that he was ‘an innocent man’ (Luke 23:47). It should of course be added that when Luke makes these changes it is easier for us to see that they have been made than to assign definite motives for each change or (and especially) to say whether or not Luke’s account is thus more reliable than Mark’s. We do not know that he did not possess the reliable information he claims to have had.

Luke emphasizes the concern of Jesus’ ministry with rich and poor and with money. In his version of the Beatitudes Jesus blesses the poor (6:20, not the ‘poor in spirit’ as in Matt. 5:3) and the hungry (6:21, not those who ‘hunger and thirst for righteousness’ as in Matt. 5:6); Jesus denounces, indeed curses, the rich and those who are now well-fed (6:24-5). There are a good many references to women and their relation to the gospel, even though it is Luke alone who states that ‘wives’ must be left for sake of discipleship (14:26; 18:29). The range of the mission of Jesus is extended beyond the Jewish people (cf. Mark 7:24-30, which Luke omits) to the despised Samaritans (10:30-7, the Good Samaritan; 17:11 -19, the Samaritan leper; a similar interest in Acts 8:5-35). Presumably these Lucan emphases reflect at least one aspect of the ministry of Jesus.

It is clear that as a historian, and as a second-generation Christian, Luke is aware of a certain distance between himself and the earliest disciples. This means that, like the other evangelists, he repeatedly states that the disciples misunderstood Jesus during his ministry; unlike them, he specifically indicates that their eschatological views were wrong. As they approached Jerusalem, they ‘supposed that the kingdom of God would appear immediately’ (19:11), but they were mistaken. Before they knew of the resurrection, some of them could say that ‘we hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel’ (24:21); even afterwards they could ask, ‘Lord, will you restore the kingdom to Israel at this time?’ (Acts 1:6). They did not yet understand that the Christ had to suffer and then enter into his glory (Luke 24:26); they did not know that the Spirit would be given to the Church, which would then witness to Jesus ‘to the end of the earth’ (Acts 1:8). For this reason Luke reports the saying of Jesus that ‘the kingdom of God does not come with watching; people will not say, "Lo, here" or "there"; for behold, the kingdom of God is within you (or, ‘in your midst)’ (Luke 17:20-1). Luke modifies some of the eschatological material derived from Mark; he agrees that the end will come, but Christians must not follow those who say, ‘The time has drawn near’ (21:8). It may be that the fall of Jerusalem has come (21:20-4; but, even if it has, the end is not yet.

On the other hand, not all Luke’s modifications can be explained in this way. Why does he omit the statement in Mark 10.45, ‘the Son of Man came to give his life as a ransom for many’? Why does he substitute the words, ‘I am in your midst as one who serves’ (Luke 22.27)? He cannot be opposed to mentioning Christ’s sacrificial death, for he plainly refers to it in Acts 20:28. Perhaps he believes that the earliest disciples did not understand it as Paul did. This problem leads us to another, the question of the text of Luke 22:19b-20. Some manuscripts state only that at the Last Supper, Jesus took a cup, blessed it, and passed it to his disciples with an oath not to drink wine again until the coming of the kingdom; then he took bread, blessed it, and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body.’ Other manuscripts continue at this point, adding these words:

given for you; do this in my remembrance. And likewise the cup after supper, saying, This cup is the new covenant in my blood which is poured out for you.

There is a considerable measure of confusion in the order of these words in the various manuscripts, and they are omitted entirely in Codex Bezac and in the Old Latin version, while they are paralleled partly in Mark (14:22-4) and partly in I Corinthians 11:24-5.

It can be argued that (1) the longer version was written by Luke and the confusion is due to the sequence cup-bread-cup, not found in early liturgies and therefore disliked by early copyists, or (2) what Luke wrote was only the shorter version (cup-bread, as in the Didache); the confusion is due to the efforts of copyists to supply additional materials.

Here we enter the realm of textual history and can note that there are significant disagreements in other parts of Luke and, above all, in Acts, where Codex Bezae gives us practically a different edition of the book from the one found in other manuscripts. In Luke itself we find such divergences as (1) the ascription of the Magnificat (1:46-55) to Elizabeth rather than to Mary (Irenaeus in the second century, Niceta of Remesiana in the fourth; some Old Latin manuscripts); (2) the appearance of an angel to Jesus in Gethsemane (22:43-4); found in Codex Bezac but omitted in Alexandrian and Caesarean manuscripts); (3) ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing’ (23:34 [cf. Acts 7:60], omitted by many Alexandrian and Caesarean manuscripts, perhaps in opposition to the Jews; contrast Matt. 27:25); (4) ‘He is not here but has been raised’ (24:6; omitted in Codex Bezae and the Old Latin, but found in the parallel, Mark 16:6); (5) Luke 24:12, apparently based on John 20:8-10 and omitted by Codex Bezae, the Old Latin, and Marcion; and (6) the statement about the ascension in Luke 24:51, omitted by the same witnesses and in one Syriac version.

What does this evidence prove? It proves only that the text of Luke has been subject to a good deal of modification -- in various directions. We know that in the second century two tendencies were at work (if not more). On the one hand, Marcion busied himself with deleting what he regarded as interpolations from the gospel; as far as we can tell from later witnesses to his now lost work, he rejected Luke 22:43-4 and 24:12 but accepted the other passages. On the other hand, Tatian prepared his Diatessaron in which the four gospels were run together; this process of combination tended to result in mixed texts. In consequence of the two tendencies and inevitable scribal errors, it becomes impossible for us to say whether the longer text or the shorter in Luke 22:19b-20 is the original one. Marcion himself accepted the longer text, removing only the word ‘new’ from the expression ‘new covenant’, since he did not believe that there was an old covenant.

While we have indicated that Luke regarded himself as a historian, we should bear in mind that his conception of history was to a considerable degree ‘rhetorical’. He felt free, as other ancient historians felt free, to give an arrangement to his materials which was not necessarily chronological but brought out their meaning as he understood it. Thus in Luke 9:51-18:14 we have an account of a journey towards Jerusalem which the evangelist has used to provide an occasion for including materials of various sorts, mostly without precise indications of time or place.

Similarly the many speeches in Acts are largely in Luke’s style (the speech of Stephen in Acts 7 is a partial exception) and reflect his ideas (or does he reflect theirs?). The tendency towards uniformity in these speeches has been explained as due to the common practice of ancient historians who invented speeches suited to the occasions they were describing. In this regard, recourse is often had to a statement by Thucydides, to the effect that when he did not have records of what was actually said he tried to compose something appropriate. Those who thus appeal to Thucydides usually neglect the rest of what he said: he stated that when he did have reliable reports he used them. Since we do not know that Luke did not have reliable reports, we cannot say that he did more than rewrite his sources, or perhaps write them for the first time from oral tradition. It should be added that Thucydides did not provide the only model known to ancient historians, in any event; Polybius, in the second century BC., severely criticized some of his predecessors for inventing speeches and said that the historian’s business was to record what was actually said. And while we know that Luke’s contemporary, Josephus, liked to make up appropriate speeches -- one of them was supposedly delivered in a cave just before all the witnesses committed suicide -- we do not know that Luke followed his example.

Cadbury’s statement about Luke’s work is rather enigmatic. ‘Even though devoid of historical basis in genuine tradition the speeches in Acts have nevertheless considerable historical value.’(F.J.F. Jackson -- K. Lake, The Beginnings of Christianity, V [London, 1933], 426.) Obviously the speeches have historical value as expressions of what Luke thought the apostles had said; but we do not actually know that they are devoid of historical basis.

The Acts of the Apostles

The book of Acts, the second of the two volumes written by the evangelist Luke (probably after his gospel), is first certainly utilized by Irenaeus of Lyons, towards the end of the second century. He not only used it but also provided the classical proof that it was written by Luke: the detailed information given in the ‘we-passages’ (Acts 16:9-18; 20:5-21:18; 27:1 - 28:16) proves that it was written by a companion of Paul who went with him to Rome; this companion must have been Luke, in prison with Paul at Rome (Col. 4:14) and later (II Tim. 4:11). In the Muratorian fragment the book is described as containing the acts of all the apostles, presumably in order to reject apocryphal books of acts by implication. Thereafter no question was raised about it among orthodox Christians, though it was often neglected in periods when there was little interest in church history.

Even before Irenaeus’s time, the book may have been known to Clement of Rome and/or Justin Martyr, but the evidence for their use of it is ambiguous.

The text of the book has been transmitted in two quite different forms. (1) Most of the Greek manuscripts, including the old uncials, and most later versions contain the form of Acts which is translated in English New Testaments. (2) On the other hand, in Codex Bezac (sixth century) we find what looks like another edition of the book, full of alterations and additions. Something like this edition was used by the earlier Church Fathers and is reflected in the old Latin and Syriac versions.

Two views, with various modifications, have been held concerning the relation of the two kinds of text. (1) The more elaborate version was the original one; later it was revised, perhaps by Luke himself, and the ‘standard’ version was the result. This theory has been criticized by J. H. Ropes on the following grounds. (a) Among the passages omitted in the version supposed to be later are references to the name or the person of (the Lord) Jesus Christ, to the Holy Spirit, and to divine guidance. Did Luke change his mind in this direction? (b) In fourteen instances essentially different pictures of events are set forth. Would Luke have rewritten his book in this way? For these reasons Ropes concluded that another solution must be correct. (2) The shorter version was the original one, and during the late first century or early second it was amplified in order to improve the style and add ‘religious commonplaces’. These modifications gained widespread acceptance for the book.

A notable example of revision is to be found in the report of the ‘apostolic decree’ in Acts 15:20 and 29 (also 21:25). Here the original decree was probably concerned with Levitical purity. The editor of the expanded version dropped a reference to ‘things strangled’ and twice added the ‘golden rule’, thus giving the impression that the decree was concerned with moral requirements.(Ropes claimed that at this point the original decree was correctly reported in the second version, but this claim is inconsistent with his basic theory.)

Acts -- Sources

According to an ingenious theory propounded by Harnack, Acts 2-5 is based on two separate sources which describe the same events. The first, from the evangelist Philip and his daughters, he called ‘A’; the second, less reliable because more ‘theological’, he called ‘B’. His equations can be summarized in a table.

A B

(A miraculous cure) (3.1-10) ---

Mission preaching of Peter;

success 3.11-26; 4.4 2.14-41

The gift of tongues 4.23-31 2.1-13

Sharing of property 4.32, 34-5.16 2.44-5

Arrest and trial of the apostles 4.1-3, 5-22 5.17-42

Harnack recognized that Acts 2:42-3:46-7 and 4:33 were summaries, and therefore did not include them in either source.

The summaries were further investigated by Cadbury, who argued that they could be isolated and that earlier ones could be differentiated from later. The earlier ones were Acts 2:41- 2; 4:32, 34-5; and 5:11-14. Others were added later: 2:43-7, based on the older ones; 4:33, based on 2:47a and 5:42; and 5:15-16. This analysis meant that Harnack’s sources were diminished in size, but not necessarily removed from the scene.

The basic question, however, is whether or not the events are really the same. Jeremias has suggested that Peter undoubtedly preached more than once, and that the gift of tongues is not necessarily the same as the shaking of a house (4:31). In addition, he has shown that according to Jewish law a criminal had to be warned before he could be punished. In Acts 4:18 the apostles were warned not to speak, but they were not punished; in Acts 5:28 they were reminded of the warning; and in Acts 5:40 they were beaten. The two accounts do not describe the same event. Therefore the sources ‘A’ and ‘B’ did not exist. Acts 2-5 is probably based primarily on oral tradition, as Luke suggests (Luke 1:2).

As for the materials which follow, it would appear that two kinds are involved, obviously related to the geography of the early Christian missions which were based on Jerusalem and Antioch. These materials reflect two points of view. (1) The viewpoint of Jerusalem is reflected -- as in Acts 2-5 -- in Acts 8.5-40 (Philip); 9:31-11:18 (Peter); 12:1-24 (Peter); and 15:1 -33 (the Jerusalem council). (2) The viewpoint of Antioch, and of some Jerusalem Christians, is reflected in Acts 6:1-8:4 (the story of Stephen, leading on to Saul); 9:1-30 (the story of Saul); 11:19-30 (Saul and others at Antioch) ; and 12:25 -14:28 (Antioch and its missions). This Antiochene source, which leads on to what follows the Jerusalem council, is called by Jeremias ‘the only source of Acts which can be reconstructed with some probability’ and ‘the oldest mission history of the Christian Church -- the kernel of Acts’.

After this point begins the part of Acts with which Luke as an eye-witness was directly concerned (unless, as is possible, he is the Lucius of Acts 13:1), for in Acts 16:10 we find the first of the ‘we-passages’, presumably from his diary. The author of the ‘we-passages’ represents himself as going with Paul to Troas and then to Macedonia (16:8 -11), sailing with him back from Philippi to Troas (20:5 -- Is) and thence going to Jerusalem (21.1 -- 18) and Rome (27.1 -- 28.16). The appearance and disappearance of the ‘we-passages’ has occasioned some criticism. Their style is the same as that of the rest of Acts, and we may assume that when Luke wished to emphasize the fact that he had accompanied Paul on his major journeys he used this means of doing so. It cannot be determined whether or not he was present at events described only in the third person, though it would seem likely that he was. Why did Conrad usually employ the third person in The Nigger of the Narcissus but occasionally speak of ‘we’?

The book of Acts, then, is essentially based on (1) oral traditions about the early church of Jerusalem, (2) other traditions about the Jerusalem missions, (3) materials about the church of Antioch for which Luke himself may have been responsible (cf. 13:1), and (4) an account of the mission of Paul of which to a considerable extent Luke was an eye-witness. To his narrative he has naturally added summaries, as well as what have been called ‘panels of progress’ -- which summarize but also indicate the passage of time (2:47; 6:7; 9:31; 12:24; 16:5; 19:20; 28:31). It has been claimed that these passages mark five-year intervals of time, beginning with the year 30 and ending with the year 60. Such a correlation is possible, but we have no reason to suppose that Luke actually regarded five-year periods as significant.

Luke evidently regarded himself as a historian, but many questions can be raised in regard to the reliability of his history, and most of them have been raised in the commentary of Ernst Haenchen (1957; 3rd ed., 1959). In the first fifteen chapters, which deal primarily with the church of Jerusalem, Luke is producing an edifying sketch rather than a history. The speeches and sermons are based on the Septuagint, not on the Hebrew Bible, and therefore reflect Luke’s interests, not those of the early community. His ‘statistics’ are impossible; Peter could not have addressed three thousand hearers without a microphone, and since the population of Jerusalem was about 25-30,000, Christians cannot have numbered five thousand (Acts 4:4). Something is clearly wrong with Luke’s chronology, for he has Gamaliel refer to Theudas and Judas in the wrong order, and Theudas actually rebelled about a decade after Gamaliel spoke(5:36-7)

The most important difficulty in the early part of Acts has to do with the conversion of Cornelius, described as a centurion of the Italian cohort (10.1). But during the reign of Herod Agrippa (d. 44.), no Roman troops were stationed in his territory. Cornelius is really a stock figure, probably modeled upon the anonymous centurion of Luke 7:1-10. The whole story has been elaborated by Luke in an effort to show that the church of Jerusalem was responsible for the gentile mission. This mission did not involve circumcision (10:45; 11:18). How, then, could the question of circumcision be discussed anew at the ‘council of Jerusalem’? How could the Jerusalem Christians have forgotten the story of Cornelius (though Peter alludes to it in Acts 15.7)? In Haenchen’s view the apostolic council is ‘an imaginative construction and corresponds to no historical reality’.

The parts of Acts which deal primarily with Paul are not much better. Luke constantly reads in notions of his own time, for example in the statement that Paul and Barnabas appointed elders in various churches (14:23) or in the reference to the presbyter-bishops of Ephesus (20:17, 28). Paul’s address at Athens reflects Luke’s theology, not Paul’s; and even if isolated elements in it correspond with isolated elements in Paul’s letters, comparisons must be based upon the basic directions present in the theological ideas of both.

Luke makes Paul’s relations with Jerusalem much closer than they really were. Paul did not study with Gamaliel, for he was not in Jerusalem in his youth (Gal. 1:22); his exegesis is not’ essentially rabbinic; and his writings reflect a life-long acquaintance with the Septuagint. Acts 18:22 implies that Luke thought that Paul visited Jerusalem at that point, but he actually did not do so, since Galatians 2:11 shows that there was a complete break between him and the Jerusalem church.

He tries to give an impression of familiarity with Roman officials and their procedures, but Paul’s ‘trial’ is incoherently presented. Why did neither Felix nor Festus give a judgement? Why did Paul not wait for a decision instead of appealing to Caesar? Why did Festus not decide a case of crimen laesae maiestatis? When Luke describes Festus’s discussion with Agrippa he is doing no more than telling the story ‘as he supposed that Roman officials would have told it’ (Lake-Cadbury).

Even the story of Paul’s final journey to Rome, including the narrative about the shipwreck, is full of theological motives and historical difficulties.

We do not agree that every instance is as unhistorical (in our understanding of the term) as Haenchen claims it is. Historical events are not always historically comprehensible; in their particularity they often resist general or logical classification. But when Haenchen reminds us that in Acts ‘we have no photograph of Paul taken by a colleague, but the picture which stood before the eyes of the post-apostolic community -- that of a Paul whom the early Catholic Church recognized and revered and until Augustine and Luther was preferred to the Paul of the epistles’, we cannot altogether disagree.

This is to say that while the traditions which reached Luke may have been generally, or largely, historical, in some respects they were not, and his own use of them did not often increase their historical value. It is also to say that just as the writings of Greek and Roman historians cannot be accepted at face value by the student of history, so the book of Acts has to be analysed not only internally but also in relation to the Pauline epistles. Its primary value lies in its witness to the picture of the life of the early Church which was developed a decade or so after the fall of Jerusalem and the deaths of the principal apostles.

Why was Acts written at all? Here again Haenchen provides a clear, though disputable, answer (pp. 84 -- 8). In the time it was written two questions were especially important: (1) the time of the coming of the end, and (2) the relation of the gentile mission to the Jewish law. The author could have solved the first problem as John does, by setting what had been future in the present; or he could have done what he actually did, i.e. place the end in the indefinite future. As for the second question, the author clearly minimizes as much as possible the differences between Jews and gentiles in the Church.

It is true that the end is, so to speak, postponed; but we should not agree that it was originally regarded as imminent. Similarly while Luke minimizes Jewish-gentile differences it is possible that in Galatians Paul exaggerates them. The fact that Acts reflects certain purposes on its author’s part does not mean that views contrary to those purposes are necessarily authentic, or more authentic.

Chapter 9: The Gospel of Matthew

From the time of Irenaeus (c. 180) the Gospel of Matthew has been regarded as the earliest of the four gospels to be written, probably because of a theory of development according to which Jewish elements in the Christian books arc regarded as prior to universal-Hellenistic ones. In any event, Matthew is the first gospel for which we have fairly conclusive external evidence. Ignatius, writing about 110, almost certainly alludes to it in one letter (Philad. 8, 2) and makes use of the birth story in another (Eph. 19, 2-3). II Clement, a Roman document of about 140, refers to Matthew 9:13 as scripture, and Barnabas, about the same time, uses Matthew 22:14 in the same way. If we date the Didache early, as we probably should, we find frequent references and allusions to Matthew in it.

It may be that Papias, writing early in the second century, refers to an earlier form of our gospel when he says that ‘Matthew compiled the oracles in a Hebrew dialect, and each one interpreted (translated?) them as best he could’ (Eusebius, H.E. 3, 39, 17). This statement seems to imply the existence of various Greek versions in Papias’s time; our gospel would then be one of these. We do not know exactly what ‘oracles’ means; it usually is used of Old Testament prophecies understood in relation to Jesus, but by extension it may also have included the words of Jesus himself:, or the fulfillment of the prophecies. Against Papias, it has been claimed, however, that Matthew cannot be a translation from Hebrew or Aramaic (even though some of the Old Testament quotations seem to have come from the Hebrew Bible), especially since it is written in a clear Greek which reflects an advance over Mark’s style and language; there is a play on the Greek words ‘kopsontai’ and ‘opsontai’ in Matthew 24:30. This claim neglects the wide variety to be found in the work of translators, and the play on Greek words can be balanced by Matthew 1:21: ‘you shall call his name Jesus, for it is he who will save his people from their sins -- ‘Jesus’ and ‘save’ are related in Hebrew (‘ieshua’ -- ‘ieshoa’).

Vocabulary and Style

Matthew contains a total of 18,300 words and uses a vocabulary of 1,690 words; he is the only New Testament writer to use 112 of these (of which seventy-six occur in the Septuagint). Among his favourite expressions are these: mention of God as ‘Father’ forty-live times (compared with five in Mark, seventeen in Luke) -- including ‘our Father’, ‘your Father’, ‘the Father in the heavens’, ‘the heavenly Father’ -- and of the kingdom as ‘the kingdom of the heavens’ ‘fulfil’ (in regard to prophecy), ‘righteousness, hypocrite’ ‘weeping and gnashing of teeth’. In addition, there are some words which are less significant theologically but equally characteristic of his vocabulary: verbs of motion such as ‘withdraw’ (‘anachorein’) and ‘come to’ or (‘approach’ (‘proserchesthai’), and favourite connectives like ‘then’ ‘(‘tote’, ninety times), ‘thence’ (‘ekeithen’), and ‘just as’ (‘hosper’).

Less significant, but rather striking, is his repetition of ‘formulas’ such as ‘from then he began’ (4:17, 16:21), ‘do not suppose that I came’ (5:17, 10:34), ‘sons of the kingdom’ (8:12, 13:38), ‘to outer darkness’ (8:12, 22:13, 25:30), ‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (10:6, 15:24). Special notice should be given to the formula, ‘He who has ears, let him hear’ (11:15,13:9,43) and the summaries of Jesus’ healings (4:23-4, 8:16, 9:35, 14:35) Matthew also likes to end sections of teaching with the expression, ‘And it happened when Jesus finished’ (these words, or equivalent) ; it occurs five times (7.28, 11:1, 13:53, 19:1, 26:1), perhaps as a reflection of the five books of Moses.

He arranges his materials rather systematically; thus his gospel begins with a listing of the fourteen generations from Abraham to David, the fourteen generations from David to the Babylonian captivity, and the fourteen generations from the Babylonian captivity to Jesus Christ (1:1-17). The sayings of Jesus are often arranged in groups of threes, fives and sevens.

It is thus all the more surprising when we find more than a dozen sayings of Jesus given twice, as well as four sections of narrative. Since almost all of the sayings are paralleled once in Mark (usually in the same context as in Mark), the most likely explanation is that when Matthew found them not only in Mark but also in some other source -- perhaps oral tradition -- he used them twice. It is possible that he had already written something like a gospel (Papias’s ‘compilation of dominical oracles’?) and then revised it completely by incorporating Mark in it.

The theory of Augustine that Mark is nothing but an abbreviation of Matthew is untenable because where the two gospels are parallel the style of Matthew is almost always superior to that of Mark. It is reasonable to suppose that Matthew improved upon Mark’s style, not that Mark perverted Matthew’s.

It has been claimed that the gospel cannot have been written by an apostle because of its use of Mark; an apostle cannot have relied upon a book written by one who was not an apostle. This claim does not seem very convincing. We cannot tell whether or not an apostle would have followed such a procedure. An apostle might have believed that Mark’s outline was largely correct but needed some revision and some supplementation. An apostle who proclaimed the gospel among Jews might have believed that Jewish Christianity, though ultimately only a part of Catholic Christianity, deserved more adequate representation than it found in Mark. But to say what he might or might not have thought is no substitute for examining the gospel itself.

The author of this gospel presents his portrait of Jesus in a manner not unlike that used by the rabbis. He is deeply concerned with the fulfillment of prophecy; indeed, most of what Jesus did he regards as taking place ‘that the scripture might be fulfilled’. Thus the virginal conception was foretold in Isaiah 7:14, the birth of Jesus at Bethlehem in Micah 5:2, the ‘massacre of the innocents’ in Jeremiah 31:15, and Jesus’ absence in Egypt in Hosea 11:1. Other events in the life of Jesus are given prophetic antecedents in the same way.

The call of Jesus from Egypt is related to another Old Testament analogy which the author finds significant. For him, Jesus is the new Moses. Just as Pharaoh tried to kill all the sons born to the Hebrews (Exod. 1:22), so Herod slew the little boys of Bethlehem (Matt. 2:16); but both Moses and Jesus escaped (compare Matt. 2:14 with Exod. 2:15). After the king’s death both Moses and Jesus returned to the lands where they were to do God’s work (Exod. 2:23; 4:19; Matt. 2:19-20). From a mountain top both Moses and Jesus delivered the law which God has given them (Exod. 19 -- 20; Matt. 5.1). In the sermon on the mount Jesus states that he has come to ‘fulfil’ the law of Moses, from which no smallest fragment shall pass away until the end of the age (5:17-18).

To a considerable extent Matthew presents Christianity as a reformed and heightened Judaism. Whoever breaks one of the least of the commandments will be called least in the kingdom of heaven (5:19; Matthew substitutes ‘heaven’ for ‘God’); what is holy must not be given to dogs, i.e. outsiders (7:6); the disciples’ mission is not to gentiles or Samaritans but to the lost sheep of the house of Israel (10:5-6; cf. 15:24). Those who take flight in the last times will be fortunate if the crisis does not come in the winter (as in Mark 13:18) or on a Sabbath (Matthew’s addition, 24:20).

Matthew’s model is the scribe to whom he refers (13:52), one who brings out of his treasure things new and old -- and arranges them systematically.

At the same time, Matthew’s interests are not solely rabbinical. He is concerned with Mark’s Greek style and often improves it as he copies from the earlier gospel. He also seems to have some definite theological interests as he sets forth his picture of Jesus and the disciples. For one thing, he omits nine Marcan references to the human indignation, anxiety or compassion of Jesus, and four references to his human inability to do what he wished. He modifies eleven instances of questions which Jesus asked. The best example of this tendency is to be found in Matthew 19:17 Mark 10:18) -- this has already been discussed. In addition, Matthew omits some of the passages in which Jesus rebuked his ignorant or faithless disciples. He regards the apostles (a word he uses as Mark did not) more highly than Mark did, and he represents Peter as receiving a special promise (16:17-19) and, like Jesus, walking on water (14:28-31).

Matthew is a Christian who knows that the gospel was intended not only for Jews but also for gentiles -- or rather, ‘to the Jew first, and also to the Greek’ (Rom. 1:16). The original ‘sons of the kingdom’ will be cast into outer darkness (8:12); the kingdom will be taken away from the Jews and given to a nation which brings forth its fruits (21:43); and at the crucifixion the whole people declares, ‘His blood be upon us and upon our children’ (27:25). The kingdom is for the Church. Matthew is the only evangelist who uses the word ‘ecclesia’ and he does so at two significant points. (1) In Mark, Peter’s confession (8:27) is at least partly rejected by Jesus. In Matthew (16:17-19) Jesus blesses Peter because his confession comes from God, not from man; and he declares that on the rock (either of the confession-revelation or of Peter himself) he will build his Church, against which the gates of Hades will not be able to prevail. The Church’s decisions will be ratified in heaven. (2) Again, Matthew provides a procedure for the consideration of wrongs done to Christians by Christians. If private consultation proves unsuccessful, the matter is to be brought before the Church; and if the offender refuses to hear the Church, he is to be excommunicated (18:15-18; cf. I Cor. 5:1 – 6:11). The Church’s decision, again, will be confirmed by God, and by Christ (18:19-20; cf. I Cor. 5:4). Because of his concern for the situation of the Church, Matthew expresses the Lord’s Prayer (6:9-13) in a form more ‘liturgical’ than that in Luke (11:2-4). He also modifies Mark’s absolute prohibition of divorce (10:9-12) by adding an escape clause, ‘except for fornication’ (Matt. 19:9; cf. 5:32). His interest in the contemporary situation is also reflected in his report of a contemporary controversy between Jews and Christians about the empty tomb (27:62-6; 28:11-15).

Apparently, as in the example provided by this controversy, he has a tendency to accept legends without much, if any, critical analysis. In this regard he is not very different from most people in his time. For him, more than for the other evangelists, prophetic dreams are significant; examples are provided by the dreams of Joseph (analogous to those of the Old Testament Joseph?) which predict the early events in Jesus’ life (1:20-3; 2:13, 19-22), the dream of the Magi (2:12), and the dream of Pilate’s wife (27:19), which showed Pilate that Jesus was a ‘righteous man’ (27:24). A certain field in Jerusalem is called ‘the field of blood’ because it was bought by the priests with the money which Judas refused to keep (27:3-10). At the time of Jesus’ death there was an earthquake (as not in the other gospels) and ‘many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming forth out of the tombs after his resurrection they entered into the holy city [note the Jewish expression] and appeared to many (27:52-3). Matthew’s story of the coin in the fish’s mouth (resembling a tale told by Herodotus 3, 42) is found only in his gospel (17:24-7).

The presence of these legendary elements, however, does not prove that Matthew transmits nothing but legend. It shows only that in some instances he did transmit legends, and that his book was not aimed directly at those who preferred historical testimony (Luke tells none of these stories). It may be that he included them simply to illustrate the universal outreach of the gospel, on which he lays great emphasis at the end of his book. In the last chapter Jesus appears to two women near Jerusalem (28:9), but whereas Luke and John make Jerusalem the centre of the appearances of the risen Lord, Matthew remains faithful to the Marcan tradition that he appeared to his disciples in ‘Galilee of the gentiles’ (28:10, 16; cf. 4:15). There he commanded them to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit and teaching them to keep his commandments; for he would be with them until the end of the age (28:19-20).

Matthew’s universalizing concern is also reflected in the great apocalyptic parables which he alone relates. He is deeply interested in the end of the age, when the wicked will finally be separated from the good by the angels (13:47-50), and the nature of the end is illustrated in the parables of the Wise and Foolish Virgins (25:1-12) and of the Sheep and the Goats at the last judgement (25:31-46). He is also interested in the fact that in this present age no such separation takes place.

The special materials of Matthew, then, and his own religious interpretation of the story of Jesus point in the direction of an apocalyptic-minded Christianity emerging from Judaism in the direction of a universalizing Catholicism. Since this gospel was a favorite of the second-century Church, it is not only obvious that Matthew’s emphases strongly influenced his successors but also that these successors were in sympathy with the emphases. This conclusion does not imply, however, that the materials and emphases were necessarily selected because of the ‘needs of the situation’ alone. There was something about the teaching of Jesus which Matthew found meaningful and which he transmitted because of his belief that it not only was meaningful but also came from Jesus himself.

Chapter 8: The Gospel Of Mark

The idea that Mark wrote a gospel is attested by Papias, early in the second century; he says that Mark never encountered Jesus but later became the disciple and ‘interpreter’ of Peter. On the basis of Peter’s teaching about the words and deeds of Jesus, he drew up an account which was accurate but not ‘in order’ (Eusebius, H.E. 3, 39, 15). Papias seems to be contrasting Mark’s work with a gospel ‘in order’ and apostolic; probably he has John in mind. A view like that of Papias is expressed by Justin, about 150; he refers to a passage in Mark’s gospel as derived from Peter. The Petrine origin of Mark is also attested by Irenaeus and Clement of Alexandria, though Clement adds the statement that Peter neither commended nor disapproved of Mark’s work.

Clement’s caution may be due to the fact that in the second century Gnostics were especially fond of the gospel. The Carpocratians liked it because of its emphasis on secret teaching; followers of Basilides apparently used it to show that Simon of Cyrene, not Jesus, was crucified (reading Mark 15:21-4 with severe literalism). According to a letter of Clement discovered by Morton Smith, the Carpocratians had their own version of the gospel, while the church of Alexandria used not only the ordinary version but also an esoteric document based upon it.

It is obvious that neither Matthew nor Luke regarded the gospel as fully satisfactory, for while they incorporated most of it in their own writings they did not hesitate to improve its style, its arrangement and its theological ideas. Clement of Alexandria himself quoted from Mark in his lost, early Hypotyposes and in his sermon on wealth (of uncertain date), but he made no use of it in his major writings.

The textual problems of the Gospel of Mark occur primarily at the beginning and at the end, although throughout the gospel scribes have made additions in order to bring the book into closer conformity with Matthew and Luke. Indeed, it has been argued that some of these additions point towards the existence of two early editions of Mark’s work -- one the original version, usually reflected in the Alexandrian text, the other the version used by Matthew and Luke and often reflected in the text of Caesarea. This theory has the advantage of explaining how Matthew and Luke can agree against the Alexandrian text of Mark at points where they are using Mark as a source. The existence of various versions at Alexandria neither supports nor discredits this theory; but it remains only a possibility.

We have discussed the problems related to the beginning and the end in our chapter on textual criticism (Chapter 2). Here we should add only that the expression ‘beginning of the gospel’ has well been compared by A. P. Wikgren (Journal of Biblical Literature 61 [1942], 11-20. with Hebrews 5:12 -- ‘the elements of the beginning of the oracles of God’ -- and with a third-century papyrus which speaks of a ‘catechumen in the beginning of the gospel’. This comparison suggests that Mark 1:1 is the title of the book, which is a simple treatment of the gospel for converts. In Mark’s view the gospel is both what Jesus proclaimed (1:14-15; 8:35; 10:29) and what was proclaimed about him (13:10; 14:9). As for the end, a Greek sentence could be terminated with the word ‘for’, but a book would hardly conclude in this way -- especially since two predictions of resurrection appearances in Galilee (14:28; 16:7) are still unfulfilled. It must be that the original ending is lost; perhaps it underlies Matthew 28:9 -10 and 16-20.

The most distinctive feature of Mark’s vocabulary, syntax and style is its almost complete lack of distinction. Mark uses 1,270 words and has all but 79 of them in common with other New Testament writers; of these 79 words, 41 also occur in the Septuagint. He is fairly fond of using diminutives and words of Latin origin; both kinds of words are typical of colloquial speech. Similarly, he uses the verb ‘to be’, especially in the imperfect tense, with a participle, instead of other verbs in the imperfect; his usage thus resembles the English ‘he was going’ rather than the best Greek. He likes to crowd a sentence with participles, and he enjoys double negatives. Examples of the historical present occur 151 times, seventy-two of them with the verb ‘he says’ or ‘they say’. This usage gives his work a certain vividness, enhanced by twenty-six examples of ‘he began to’ or ‘they began to’. For connecting his sentences he usually contents himself with a simple ‘and’, although in forty-two instances he uses the word ‘euthus’, which can be translated as ‘immediately’, but may mean little more than ‘then’.

Both in his paragraph structure, such as it is, and even within sentences he is accustomed to write parenthetically. This is to say that he combines two thoughts or even narratives simply by placing one within the other.

Some features of his style can be explained as reflections of Aramaic tradition or thinking; in general, however, his manner of writing seems to be due to (1) his intention to report rather than to create, and (2) his training, or lack of it, which results in a style colloquial or ‘oral’ rather than literary.(An excellent summary in V. Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark [London, 1952]).

Most of the gospel consists of materials, apparently derived from, oral tradition, concerning what Jesus did and said. To some extent they are bound together by summaries which reflect the evangelist’s own view of these materials. In these summaries we find emphasis laid on preaching by Jesus (1:14-15; 39) and the twelve (6:12), on the work of healing and exorcism (1:34, 39; 3:10-11; 6:13, 56), and on the general reception of the gospel (1:45; 3:7-8, 11; 7:37). There is also a contrasting emphasis upon secrecy (1:34; 3:12; 4:33-4; 7:36) and on the future death and victory of Jesus (8:31-2; 9:30-1; 10:32-4).

No problem is created by the summaries of the first kind; they seem to be based directly upon the materials which Mark supplies. On the other hand, scholars have often regarded the summaries of the second kind as due either to Mark himself or to the tradition just prior to him. This view seems to be based upon the presupposition that Jesus’ work and teaching must have been entirely public; in addition, he cannot have anticipated his death and resurrection.

The motif of secrecy in Mark is a rather complex one. (1) It involves silence on the part of exorcised demons (1:25, 34; 3:12) and of men who have been cured (1:43-5; 5:43; 7:36, 8:26), as well as of the disciples themselves, who are to tell no one about Jesus as Messiah (8:30) or about the transfiguration 9:9 or even about his presence in Tyre (7:24) or his journey through Galilee (9:30). (2) It also involves ‘the secret of the kingdom of God’ (4:10-12) and secret or ‘private’ explanations of parables (4:34) and miracles (9:28), as well as revelations of the person of Jesus (9:2) and of things to come (13:3). To a considerable extent the full revelation is given only to the four disciples who were the first to be called (1:16-20, 29; 5:37; 9:2; 13:3; 14:33). Teaching about the passion and resurrection is given only ‘on the road’ apart from the multitudes (8:27; 9:33; 10:32).

Yet in spite of the fact that the disciples were given secret teaching, they failed to understand the intention of Jesus. They did not understand the parable of the sower (4:13, followed by an allegorical explanation; cf. 7:18); they did not know that Jesus could still a storm (4:40) or walk on the sea (6:49-51). They did not understand about the loaves in the feeding miracles (6:51; 8:14-21). They did not understand the predictions of death and resurrection; indeed, they did not even know what ‘resurrection’ was (9:10). They could not see how the rich could be saved (10:24, 26). Such ignorance was present not only among the disciples in general but also among the inner circle. Peter did not understand the passion prediction (8:32); James and John mistakenly asked for seats at the right and left of Jesus in his ‘glory’ (10:35-7).

This combination of revelation and ignorance must mean that, whatever Jesus’ disciples did or did not understand, Mark himself now does understand. He knows that they did not fully recognize who Jesus was or what he was doing and teaching. He does not explain how he himself received further illumination; but it seems fairly clear that it was the result of the resurrection. It may be suggested that he can emphasize the ignorance of the apostles only if he assumes that they have later come to understand. His emphasis upon the weakness and ignorance of Peter may be due to what Peter himself later said.

What Mark is trying to say is that the full meaning of Jesus was not understood during his ministry, and that some disciples understood him better than others did. He is also indicating that not all of Jesus’ teaching was intended for the public. It would be rash to suppose that Mark’s ideas are not in harmony with the actual historical situation.

It can hardly be denied, however, that Mark has imposed a certain measure of arrangement upon his materials. Our starting point for analysing this arrangement must be the central section of his book, where a singular parallelism exists.

6.33-7.37 8.1-26

five loaves, two fishes (6.38) seven loaves, a few fishes

(8.5-7)

twelve baskets full (6.43) seven baskets full (8.8)

5,000 fed (6.44) 4,000 fed (8.9)

in a boat to Bethsaida (6.45) in a boat to ‘Dalmanutha’

(8.10; the word may mean

‘of his own house’)

controversy with Pharisees controversy with Pharisees

(7.1-23) (8.11-12)

question of children’s bread; question of bread;

exorcism of demon (7.24-30) meaning of feedings

(8.13-2 i)

‘through Sidon’ (7.32; the to Bethsaida (8.22)

words may reflect ‘Bethsaida’)

healing of deaf and dumb healing of blind man

man by material means by material means (8.22-5)

(7.32-6)

injunction to secrecy (7.36) injunction to secrecy (8.26)

allusion to Isaiah 35.5-6 (no allusion, but ‘blind’ is

(7:37) in Is. 35.5)

 

In view of Mark’s explicit reference to the hidden meaning of the two feedings (8:17-21) we can hardly doubt that his arrangement is intentional. What does it mean? The two cycles of stories lead up to Peter’s recognition of Jesus as the Christ and to the story of the transfiguration which is the divine confirmation of this recognition (8:27- 9:1; 9:2-13; both accounts contain passion motifs). It must be that in Mark’s view the double sequence from feeding to restoration of hearing/speech and sight was ‘fulfilled’ in Peter’s recognition of Jesus. But like the blind man Peter did not gain clear vision immediately; he recognized the Christ but not the suffering of the Christ.

Once more, however, we should not maintain that everything about the arrangement is due to Mark’s literary work. A similar pattern, almost certainly independent of Mark, occurs in John. There the feeding of the five thousand (6:1-13) is followed by the people’s hailing Jesus as prophet and wanting to make him king (6:14-15), and after the discourse on the feeding Peter says, ‘We have believed and know that you are the Holy One of God’ (6:69). We conclude that the sequence feeding-recognition is traditional but that the careful way in which Mark has developed it is his own.

Mark has a definite tendency to tell similar stories in similar ways: he seems to avoid variation, probably because of the influence of oral tradition and because of the use, in preaching and teaching, of what was transmitted. Two synagogue scenes are practically identical (1:21-7; 6:1-2); the style of some of the exorcism stories is practically uniform (1:23-7; 5:2-20; cf. 4:39-41). Preparation for the triumphal entry (11:1-4, 6) is much the same as that for the paschal meal (14:13-14, 16).

Indeed, Austin Farrer has gone so far as to claim that Mark’s gospel consists of five ‘cycles’ in which we find (1) apostolic calling, (2) a healing miracle, (3) private teaching, and (4) public teaching -- though sometimes private teaching is replaced by enacted proclamation, or private and public teaching are reversed. The arrangement he recovers is as follows:

I. Mark 1.1-2.12, reiterated in a ‘little gospel’

2.15-3.12 foreshadowing

the great one;

II. Mark 3.13-6.6, reiterated in eight healings

6.7-56

III. Mark 7.1-37, reiterated in a continuation;

8.1-26

(8.27-9.!, an epilogue) three healings

IV. Mark 9.2-10.31, reiterated in the fulfilment of

10.32-13.2 the little gospel;

V. Mark 13.3-14.31, reiterated three healings

in 14.32-16.8

 

He finds the key to the gospel in the call of the apostles (though this is absent in 7:1). Farrer’s theory may be somewhat forced, but it represents an attempt to recognize the fact that as Mark compiled his materials he did not simply transmit them in a random pattern.

It may be, however, in view of the emphasis which Mark lays upon ‘secret epiphanies’ (Dibelius) or the revelation of the hidden God, that more should be made of the passage which Farrer treats as an epilogue to his third section. This passage (8:27 - 9:1) begins with a significant parallel to the account of the death of John the Baptist -- a story which, whatever its origin may be, is used by Mark as a prefiguration of the death of Jesus (8:27-8; 6:14-16). And it is in this passage that the meaning of Jesus’ mission first becomes clear. Peter acknowledges Jesus as the Christ, but the disciples are ordered not to tell anyone; instead, ‘he began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things. . .’ This is not precisely an epilogue. Instead, it resembles what Aristotle (Poetics 11, 1-10) viewed as essential for the ‘middle’ of a tragedy. There should be a scene in which recognition of the hero results in the friendship of those destined for good fortune and the enmity of those destined for ill; ideally, there should also be a reversal of the hero’s circumstances and the story should go onward to his ‘passion’ or suffering. Obviously the gospel account does not exactly correspond with Aristotle’s analysis, and there is no reason to suppose that Mark had ever seen the Poetics. But the literary doctrine had powerfully influenced the popular storytelling of his time, and whether by chance or by intention Mark’s outline does combine recognition with reversal, at least as far as the disciples are concerned.

Very generally, we may proceed to use this scene as the fulcrum of the gospel and divide it into four main sections, with some subdivisions.

I. The Gospel of the Kingdom (1:1-4:34)

A. The proclamation of the gospel (1:1-45)

B. The reception of the gospel (2:1-3:35)

.
C. Teaching about the reception of the gospel (4:1-34)

II. The Inauguration of the Kingdom (4:35-8:26)

A. The incipient presence of the kingdom (4:35-5:43)

B. The rejection of the kingdom (6:1-29)

C. The kingdom anticipated (6:30-7:37; 8:1-26)

III. The Recognition of Jesus as the Christ (8:27-9:13)

IV. Through Death to Victory (9:14-16:8)

A. The way of the cross (9:14-10:52)

B. The Christ in Jerusalem (11-13)

C. The passion (14-15)

D. The resurrection (16:1-8)

This outline, we should claim, reflects Mark’s basic understanding of the mission of Jesus.

We should probably try to say something about the date of Mark’s gospel. The oldest clear evidence we possess on this subject comes from Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 3, 1, 1): ‘after their death [that of Peter and Paul], Mark, the disciple and interpreter of Peter, transmitted to us in writing what was preached by Peter.’ We are probably justified, then, in placing the gospel in the seventh decade of the first century.

Chapter 7: The Gospels

Before discussing the individual gospels we should say something about their use in the early Christian Church and about their literary character or characters. We may suggest that two of the evangelists refer to books analogous to their own and that a third almost certainly knows another. (1) At the beginning of the Gospel of Luke we read of ‘many’ who have undertaken to draw up an account of the matters accomplished among Christians, in accordance with traditions received from eyewitnesses. Among the ‘many’ is presumably the author of the Gospel of Mark, for as we shall see (Chapter 10), Mark was the principal source followed by Luke. Luke’s statement implies that Mark was not an eye-witness but received his information from eye-witnesses. (2) At the end of the Gospel of John (20:30) we read that ‘Jesus performed many other signs. . . which are not recorded in this book.’ This statement may imply the existence of other books in which the ‘other signs’ were recorded. (3) The principal source followed by the author of Matthew was the Gospel of Mark; Matthew is therefore obviously a witness to Mark’s prior existence.

Within the other New Testament writings there seems to be only one reference to a gospel. This occurs in I Timothy 5:18, where quotations from Deuteronomy 25:4 and Luke 10:7 are introduced by the expression, ‘the scripture says’. It would appear that the saying of Jesus is to be found in a book and that the book is regarded as scripture.

In the writings of the Apostolic Fathers (see Chapter 16) there are fairly clear references to written gospels (Matthew in the Didache and in Barnabas). A certain Papias, bishop (?) of Hierapolis in Phrygia towards the beginning of the second century, discussed at least two of the gospels in his Exegeses of the Dominical Oracles, of which only fragments survive. In his preface he stated that he valued oral traditions more highly than books; then he proceeded to discuss books in the light of traditions.

(1) Quoting ‘the elder’, probably ‘the elder John’ whom he mentions elsewhere, Papias describes the origin of the Gospel of Mark. It is an accurate account of the Lord’s words and deeds, though neither ‘in order’ nor complete. Mark derived his information from the teaching and preaching of Peter, for whom he had served as ‘interpreter’. This statement implies that the order of Mark has been compared with some other order, probably that of John (since the order of Matthew and Luke is much the same as Mark’s). It has sometimes been thought that the picture of Mark’s relation to Peter is based on I Peter 5:13 (‘Mark my son’), since Eusebius says that Papias knew I Peter; but there is no valid reason for supposing that both Papias and I Peter are not reflecting early Roman tradition.

(2) In regard to Matthew, Papias reported that he ‘compiled the oracles in the Hebrew language; but each person translated them as he was able.’ The statement shows that early in the second century there were several Greek versions of something regarded as Matthew’s collection of ‘oracles’ (Old Testament proof texts?); one of them may have been the apocryphal gospel of the Hebrews, which Eusebius says contained some materials which Papias used. It is conceivable that he regarded both ‘Hebrews’ and our Gospel of Matthew as translations of an apostolic document. His view may reflect analysis of the Old Testament quotations in Matthew, some of which are much closer to the Hebrew than to the Greek Septuagint.

(3) A so-called ‘anti-Marcionite prologue’ to the Gospel of John states that John dictated his gospel to Papias himself; but this highly garbled document is not likely to give us any trustworthy information about either Papias or John. Modern study of the prologue places it in the fourth century, or even later.( See E. Gutwenger, ‘The Anti-Marcionite Prologues’, Theological Studies 7 (1946), 393-409; R. C. Heard, ‘The Old Gospel Prologues’, Journal of Theological Studies, N.S. 6 (1955), 1-16.)

From Papias, then, we derive some information, possibly correct, about the origin of Mark’s gospel and of some of the materials in Matthew. The trouble with this information lies in our own inability to assess it properly. How reliable was Papias? How reliable were his informants? The only way we can tell is to check what he says with the gospels themselves and to see to what extent our analysis confirms his statements. This method means, of course, that our primary sources of evidence lie in the gospels, not in what Papias says about them.

Probabilities About the Gospels

Before turning directly to the gospels we may well consider a few general factors which are related to the question of their date. We have already looked at what evidence there is within the New Testament which bears on this question. Now we turn to consider some points which have to do with the life of the Christian Church and the apostles.

First of all, it must be admitted that we cannot prove that the gospels were not written at a very early time. The fact that some, if not all, early Christians expected the imminent return of Jesus does not prove that they cannot have written down their memories of his words and deeds. Rabbinic insistence upon not writing down the oral law provides no parallel, since we know that disciples of the rabbis sometimes did write it down; furthermore, apocalyptic literature, though secret, was by definition written, and from the discoveries at Qumran we know that much more was written than might have been supposed. On the other hand, the earlier New Testament documents, such as the Pauline epistles, make no reference to any gospel writings, and in them there is a fairly strong insistence upon the value of oral tradition (I Cor. 11:23; 15:3). Moreover, the synoptic gospels seem to be based, fairly often, directly on oral tradition, especially at points where sayings have been linked by verbal association for the purpose of memorization. Such a procedure is characteristic of oral transmission, not of copying from written documents. These facts suggest that the gospels. while relatively early in date, are likely to come from the second generation of Christians rather than from the first.

What conspicuous historical events may have provided occasions for the writing down of the oral tradition? Two events immediately suggest themselves: (1) the persecution of Roman Christians in the year 64, when some of the leading apostles were probably put to death (we may also mention the death of James the Lord’s brother in 62), and (2) the destruction of Jerusalem in the year 70, when the Church came to be more fully conscious of its mission to the gentile world. Of these two the more important was probably the death of some of the apostles. Since the Church’s proclamation of the significance of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus was based upon the memories of eye-witnesses to these events (cf. I Cor. 15:5-8; Acts 1:21-2), when those eye-witnesses grew old or died it was obviously necessary to commit their narratives to writing. We do not know how old the apostles were at the time of the crucifixion; perhaps some of them were no more than twenty or so; but by the sixties of the first century the life-expectancy of any of them cannot have been great. Given a combination of these factors, we should assume that gospel-writing would begin no later than the time of the persecution under Nero.

Another point, however, must be considered. Our gospels lay almost no emphasis upon eye-witness testimony. Mark and Matthew never do so. Luke mentions eye-witnesses as sources in his prologue but thereafter in his gospel never speaks of them. John refers to eye-witnesses very sporadically (1:14; 19:35; 21:24). The gospels testify primarily to the faith and the memories of the communities out of which they came, not to the historical reliability of their authors. In many respects the synoptic gospels (though not John) resemble folk literature more than the creations of individual artists. What this fact means is either that the evangelists were not interested in historical reliability or that they took it for granted and, in writing their books, proceeded to develop the implications of memories assumed to be trustworthy. The latter conclusion seems to be justified in view of the insistence on historical reliability expressed by Paul, by Luke, and by John. The evangelists made use of historical memories in order to set forth the significance of those memories. As the author of II Peter claims, the apostles did not proclaim the power and presence of their Lord by relying on myths such as those employed by rhetoricians (1:16).(See the important discussion, from a somewhat different viewpoint, by D.E. Nineham in Journal of Theological Studies 9 (1958), 13-25; 243-52; 11 [1960], 253-64.)

The gospels, then, originated fairly soon after the middle of the first century. They were created by and for believers who were concerned with the life, death and resurrection of Jesus and tried to interpret the meaning of this chain of events. It may be that the gospel form did not come into existence before Hellenistic communities (Rome, Antioch, Ephesus) had made Palestinian traditions their own, though the notion that Matthew wrote something in Hebrew may point towards an earlier origin for some, at least, of the traditions found in this gospel. Whether Hebrew or Greek, the gospels originated in relation to (1) the apostolic preaching and teaching, concerned not only with the events of Jesus’ life but also with what he taught, (2) the continuing worship of the Christian communities and especially the Lord’s Supper, in which his death was proclaimed until he would return (I Cor. 11.26), and (3) the living memories of those who had been with him during his ministry.

These factors are perhaps equally important. Sometimes the liturgical origin of the gospels has been emphasized almost to the exclusion of other considerations, but it must be recalled that while Paul does recall the story of the Last Supper in setting forth regulations for the conduct of the Lord’s Supper, he does not state that the story had been recited, or was to be recited, at the Lord’s Supper in Corinth; and he does not mention the Supper in any of his letters but I Corinthians. What is clear from his mention of the Last Supper is the fact that the story was told in a context. He reminds the Corinthians of what the Lord Jesus did and said ‘on the night when he was betrayed.’ This point suggests that well before the year 50 at least the Passion Narrative (Mark 14:15 and parallels) was told as a continuous story. On the other hand, it may be that we should not try to infer too much from what Paul reports. He also possesses a fairly detailed list of resurrection appearances (I Cor. 15), and it is extremely hard to reconcile with the resurrection stories in the gospels.

It has sometimes been argued that the general outline of the synoptic gospels, and especially that of Mark, can be proved historically reliable because of the rough outlines to be found in some of the early Christian sermons in Acts. This point is hard to establish with any degree of certainty because (1) we know that Luke used Mark, and (2) we know that Luke was accustomed to compose speeches (whether he used earlier sources or not) in order to provide discourses he regarded as suitable for various occasions. The second point does not prove that the Marcan outline is unreliable, but it suggests that we are not in a position to say whether it is or not -- especially since the outline provided by John is so different. It should be added that one of the few points on which Papias insists is that Mark was not written ‘in order’. Since he seems to have known the Gospel of John, he probably means that Mark’s chronology seems wrong to him.

Essentially the primary proof of the correctness, or at least the literary adequacy, of Mark’s outline lies in the fact that it commended itself, with minor changes, to Matthew and Luke. This point leads us to consider the interrelations of the synoptic gospels, since it is impossible to consider them separately without first trying to see why they are as similar as they are. Several theories in regard to the resemblances and the differences have been set forth. In antiquity, once the tradition that Matthew wrote first had become established, the other two had to be explained in terms of the first. Origen, for example, claimed that the Spirit gave each evangelist a perfect memory; the deviations of Mark and Luke from Matthew were due to theological purposes, often highly subtle in nature. Augustine took another line: according to him, Mark simply abbreviated Matthew. In the nineteenth century, however, it came to be generally held that Mark wrote first and that both Matthew and Luke made use of his book, along with another common source which each of them arranged differently.

The proof of the priority of Mark, often regarded as almost mathematical in nature, is not really mathematical. Briefly stated, it is this. The sequence in which Matthew and Luke write ~ their gospels is never the same unless Mark is in agreement with them; and where Mark is in agreement with them their sequence is always the same. We can put the argument in tabular form:

Matthew Mark Luke

A -- D

B B B

C C C

D -- A

It still remains possible, however, that Mark abbreviated Matthew and that Luke changed Matthew’s order. Therefore other considerations have to be taken into account. Where Matthew and Luke are parallel to Mark it can be argued that, generally speaking, they differ from Mark in ways (usually different) that suggest that both of them have tried to improve the style or the thought of their common source.

Several examples may serve to illustrate this process.

Mark 10:27-18 Matthew 19:16-17

And as he was setting out on And behold,

His journey, a man ran up and one came up to him,

knelt before him and asked saying,

him, Good teacher, Teacher,

what must I do to inherit what good deed must I do,

eternal life? And Jesus said to have eternal life? And he

to him, said to him,

Why do you call me good? Why do you ask me about

No one is good but God what is good? One there is

Alone. Who is good.

(2) In Mark 10.35 -- 45 the sons of Zebedee askJesus for the right to sit on his right and left in his ‘glory’. In Matthew 20.20 -- 8 their mother makes the request for them, but Jesus replies, exactly as in Mark, ‘You do not know what you are asking’; in both instances the ‘you’ is plural.

(~) The third example shows both Matthew and Luke apparently rewriting Mark:

Matthew 8.16 -- 17 Mark 1.32 -- 4 Luke 4.40-1

That evening That evening at sun- When the sun was

they brought to down they brought setting all those

him to him all who who had any sick

were sick or with various diseases

many possessed with possessed with brought them to

demons. demons. And the him.

whole city was

gathered together

about the door.

And he cast out And he healed many And he laid his

the spirits with a who were sick with hands on every one

word and healed all various diseases and of them and

who were sick, cast out many healed them. And

demons, demons also came

out of many,

crying, You are the

Son of God. And

he rebuked them,

and he would not and would not

allow the demons allow them to speak,

to speak, because they because they knew

knew
him, that he was the

Christ.

This was to fulfil

what was spoken

by the prophet

Isaiah ...

(The words in italic are the same in Greek.)

These examples could be multiplied, but they serve to show that both Matthew and Luke, at least in many instances, modified the materials they took from Mark. (For further discussion cf. B.H. Streeter. The Four Gospels,. 149-331.)

We have just observed a case in which Matthew and Luke seem to have made independent selections from Mark, and there are several others.

Matthew Mark Luke

the leprosy was the leprosy the leprosy

cleansed from him departed from him departed from him

(8.3) and [he] was (5.13)

cleansed (1.42)

for the sake of my for the sake of me for the sake of the

name (19.29) and the gospel kingdom of God

(10.29) (18.29)

immediately immediately entering (19.30)

(21.2) entering (11.2)

in this night today in this night today (22.34)

(24.34) (14.30)

It seems unlikely either that Matthew used Luke or that Luke used Matthew; the only possibilities seem to be that either (1) Mark used both Matthew and Luke (but the cumulative effect of the differences between Mark and the other two gospels suggests that this is not so), or (2) Matthew and Luke used Mark in different ways and for different purposes.

Q For Quelle

Matthew and Luke agree in order at points where they are following Mark. At other points they do not agree in order but have common materials. At such points their agreement is sometimes exact, sometimes a matter of common materials treated somewhat differently. Two explanations of these coincidences have been given. (1) Luke used Matthew but revised his materials. (2) Both Matthew and Luke made use of a common source, usually called Q from the German word ‘Quelle’, which means ‘source’. Sometimes the use of this symbol has led investigators to assume that there was a clearly definable document which could be recovered from Matthew and Luke, but further research has suggested that the limits of Q are much vaguer than had been supposed.

(1) It seems unlikely that Luke used Matthew, for the following reasons. (a) In Matthew many sayings of Jesus have been assembled into a collection called the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5-7); in Luke these sayings are scattered over a number of chapters, in different contexts. Would Luke have felt free to treat Matthew in this way? (b) Many sayings of Jesus are connected to one another by verbal association in both Matthew and Luke; but in about seventeen instances the word used for the association by Matthew differs from the word used by Luke. This point proves that both Matthew and Luke drew independently upon a common stock of oral tradition.(Th. Soiron, Die Logia Jesu [Munster, 1916], J. Jeremias in ZNW 29 [1930]) Other arguments have been advanced to support the independence of Luke from Matthew, but these two (especially the second) are the most convincing.

(2) On the other hand, the notion that there was a single written source to be designated as Q is also untenable, first because of the argument just advanced, and second because sometimes the resemblances are very close and at other times they are rather remote. In the latter case it is uncertain whether a common source is being used or not. When we speak of Q, then, we are referring to a conglomeration of sources, perhaps partly written (as in the accounts of the Baptist’s preaching and of the baptism and temptation of Jesus) but more often oral in origin. Perhaps the letter Q should be dropped; but it is convenient as a designation for non-Marcan materials common to Matthew and Luke -- nothing more.

What do these materials consist of? Various scholars have given various lists, but a convenient summary, following the order of Matthew, has been provided by Julius Wellhausen in his Einleitung in die drei ersten Evangelien (1905). He lists the following passages:

M 3.1 – 12 the mission of John the Baptist L 3.1 -- 17

M 4.1 -- Il the baptism and temptation of Jesus L 4.1 -- 15

The Sermon on the Mount

M 5.1 -- 12 the Beatitudes L 6.20 -- 3

M 5.38 -- 48 counsels of perfection L 6.27 -- 36

M 6.19 -- 34 heavenly treasure; cares L 12.22 -- 34

M 7.1 -- 6 judge not L 6.37 -- 42

M 7.7 -- Il ask and you will receive L 11.9 -- 13

M 7.15 -- 27 false prophets; hearing and doing L 6.43 -- 9

M 8.5 -- 13 the centurion in Capernaum L. 7.1 -- 10

M 10.1 if. instructions to the apostles or to L 10.1 -- 12;

the seventy disciples 12.1 -- 12;

12.49 – 53

M 11.1 -- 19 about John the Baptist L 7.18 -- 35

M I 1.20 -- 4 woes on various cities L 10.13 -- IS

M 11.25 -- 30 the invitation of Jesus-Wisdom L 10.21 -- 4

M 12.22 -- 37 the question about Beelzebub L 11.14 -- 23

M 12.38 -- 42 the sign of Jonah L 11.29 -- 32

M 12.43 -- 5 the fate of the unclean spirit L 11.24 -- 6

M 22.1 -- 14 parable of the (wedding) banquet L 14.16 -- 24

M 23.13 -- 36 woes against Pharisees L 11.37 -- 52

M 24.1 if. apocalyptic predictions L 17.20-35

12.35 -- 46

M 25.14 -- 30 parable of the entrusted funds L 19.11 -- 27

In addition to these fairly extensive passages there are, of course, a good many isolated verses which occur in both Matthew and Luke, but the bulk of the common materials consists of the passages listed above. Perhaps Wellhausen included too much. At several points he has listed not merely verses common to the two gospels but others which seem to continue the thought expressed in one or the other of them.

What kinds of materials are included in this collection ? It is rather striking that it contains a beginning -- the mission of John the Baptist and the baptism and temptation of Jesus -- but no end, unless the apocalyptic predictions could be so regarded. It contains one story of healing and two parables. The rest of it consists of nothing but sayings of Jesus. For this reason it has sometimes been suggested that here we have ‘the earliest gospel’, a document composed during the lifetime of Jesus. But we have already indicated the reasons which prove that it was not a single document. It generally represents a part of the reservoir of oral tradition from which both Matthew and Luke drew some of their materials, though some of it may well have been available to them in written form.

Can it be determined whether Matthew or Luke reproduced his sources more accurately? Some scholars have believed that they could tell. For example, they regarded Luke 9:60 (‘go and proclaim the kingdom of God’) as later than Matthew 8:22 (‘follow me’), Luke 7:25 as later than Matthew 11:8 because of its better Greek style, and Luke 11:13 as later than Matthew 7:11 because Luke mentions the gift of the Holy Spirit. Such an analysis confuses the idiosyncrasy of an author with the date of his writing. Moreover, in many instances, according to the same scholars, the version of Luke is more ‘primitive’ than that of Matthew. The upshot of this kind of analysis seems to be that individual cases must be judged on their own merits, and that such judgements will depend on a general view of the development of early Christianity which does not yet exist, if it ever will.

Recently a significant study has been made of the assumptions and the problems involved in postulating the existence of a ‘sayings source’ such as Q, and of the methods to be followed in proving the hypothesis.(T.R. Rosché in JBL 79 [1960] 210-20.) (1) The ‘Q-hypothesis’ cannot be held unless the priority of Mark to Matthew be assumed. (2) In proceeding towards Q one must first investigate the ways in which Matthew and Luke used their extant source Mark. Such an investigation has four results: (a) Luke reproduced Mark’s sayings of Jesus more faithfully than Mark’s narrative material; (b) the changes Luke made in Marcan sayings are chiefly grammatical and stylistic; (c) Matthew too remained close to Mark’s sayings; (d) he changed their wording primarily for stylistic reasons but often preserved their order. (3) Both Matthew and Luke treated Mark’s sayings more respectfully than they did his narrative materials. (4) Since most of the materials found only in Matthew and Luke consist of sayings, it is necessary to see whether or not Matthew and Luke exhibit the same measure of agreement as that found in their treatment of sayings found in Mark. (5) If Matthew and Luke followed the same method in dealing with non-Marcan sayings that they followed in dealing with Marcan sayings, it could be expected that the same degree of agreement would exist in the second case as exists in the first; but it does not exist. (6) The only possible explanations are that (a) Matthew and Luke may not have treated the hypothetical source in the same way, or (b) there is no such source. There are objections to both (a) and (b); the first possibility does not explain why the treatments are different, while the second does not explain the close verbal correspondences in non-Marcan materials common to Matthew and Luke. This objection can be met, however, by reference to carefully memorized oral materials.

If, as seems to be the case in a few of the sayings, a play on Aramaic words underlies our present Greek text, it may be that the original Aramaic should be regarded as closer to the words of Jesus than the words we now possess. But it must be remembered that we do not actually possess such an Aramaic version and that the reconstructions which have been provided must necessarily remain hypothetical.

Our conclusion about Q, then, is that it is no less and no more than a convenient symbol to designate non-Marcan materials common to Matthew and Luke. Since it seems to have been partly written and partly oral, we should not imagine that we are dealing with a written source in any way comparable to Mark. Most of the so-called Q has no greater value than is to be assigned to any of the other materials, oral or written, upon which either Matthew or Luke drew in composing their gospels.

 

The Synoptic Problem

Enthusiasts for sources have rarely found a happier hunting-ground than when they dealt with the synoptic gospels. Unwilling, apparently, to admit the existence or the value of oral tradition, they have sought to reduce the complexity to be found in the interrelations of the synoptic gospels by using various diagrams to show how the later ones developed. In the early years of this century two types of diagrams were especially popular, the first among liberal Protestants, the second among Catholics.

 

The first diagram had the virtue, if it was a virtue, of simplicity; the second took account of Papias and patristic tradition, as well as of many of the facts to be found by analysing gospel interrelations. (Some scholars simply confused the issue by identifying Q with the ‘oracles’ compiled by Matthew according to Papias, and saying that Matthew compiled ‘sayings of Jesus’; but Papias’s word ‘logia’ is not the same as ‘logoi’, ‘sayings’.) About 1920 further symmetry was given the first diagram by expanding it to include special sources used by Matthew and by Luke.

 

 This attractive diagram really conveys no information beyond the fact that both Matthew and Luke used Mark and that, in addition, they have some materials which are common and others which are not common.

Around the same time another theory was devised to explain why, if one removed Marcan materials from Luke, so much remained and why that remainder looked so much like a gospel (the possibility that Luke might have rewritten his sources at some points and not at others was rejected). This theory postulated the existence of something called Proto-Luke, consisting of a document combined out of Q and L (both regarded as written). Proto-Luke, the earliest gospel, was then combined with Mark to make our present Gospel of Luke. The theory carries as much, and as little, conviction as any similar theory essentially based on the removal of part of a book to see what the remainder looks like.

Almost all analysis of this sort ultimately fails because it neglects the extent to which the evangelists were involved in the transmission of the Christian tradition as well as the extent to which they were free to arrange and rewrite their materials in ways which seemed meaningful to them and to the communities of which they were members. It may be that we can create useful hypotheses about the authentic early materials which the evangelists used. What we actually possess consists of the gospels which they wrote.( Statistical material in regard to the gospels and other New Testament books are derived primarily from R. Morganthaler, Statistik des neutestamentlichen Wortschatzes (Frankfurt, 1958).

Chapter 6: The Necessity of Theological Understanding

Thus far we have considered the collecting of the New Testament books, their copying and translation, and the methods by which one tries to ascertain what their authors were saying and the circumstances under which they wrote. But we seem to have failed to come to grips with the most important question of all. We have considered what they wrote and how they wrote it; we have not considered why they wrote, and this is the ultimate question of New Testament study. Unless we reach this question and make some attempt to solve it, there is no particular reason for us to be studying the New Testament rather than any other collection of ancient documents.

This point should be expressed with appropriate caution. It is not suggested (1) that there is no reason to study other documents, or (2) that the methods of studying the New Testament are necessarily unique to it. It is simply suggested that the New Testament writers had a purpose for writing and that unless this purpose is kept in view the analysis of their writings will be fragmentary and will produce nothing but a collection of fragments.

To some extent the history of New Testament interpretation -- or, more accurately, of biblical interpretation -- is roughly identical with the history of systematic theology. Most systematic theologians have believed that they were interpreting what the New Testament meant as a whole. To be sure, the use (conscious or unconscious) of the allegorical method often led them to read more into the text than more literal-minded exegetes have been able to find. But even the allegorical method requires that some passages in scripture be taken literally; these passages are usually regarded as the keys to the understanding of the Bible as a whole. In modern times, increasing use of ‘the historical method’ has led to insistence upon the variety of the outlooks expressed by biblical writers and sometimes to the refusal to lay emphasis upon their common faith. In place of ‘biblical theology’ or ‘New Testament theology’ we have varieties of New Testament religion. Such a concern is justifiable in relation to a situation in which differences were obscured and the New Testament was viewed in two dimensions rather than three or four. It is not justifiable if it obscures the ultimate unity of purpose underlying the New Testament books.

Again, the New Testament has sometimes been viewed as historical in the sense that it provides nothing but evidence for the development of early Christianity. The purpose of New Testament study is then regarded as the discovery or uncovering of various layers of tradition which either obscure or rightly draw out the implications of the earliest gospel. Only this earliest gospel is finally to be regarded as authoritative, or else the story of early Christianity, now truly seen, somehow possesses a meaning just because it is seen.

It should be said that such a notion is akin to the theory of Marcion rather than to anything to be found either in the New Testament itself or in the writings of Christian theologians. There is no reason to suppose that only the earliest strata of tradition contain the true gospel; had this been so, we should obviously have no New Testament, and none of the books in it would have been written. What we must look for, instead, is the purpose for which the New Testament authors wrote.

There are several ways in which this purpose has been sought. We have already mentioned the first, called ‘biblical theology’. But before turning to it we should mention the preliminary study, popular in antiquity (Origen) and today as well, of the meanings of New Testament words. This study, as we have already argued (Chapter III), does not usually produce absolutely definite results. At the same time, it must be admitted that it is indispensable for our understanding of the texts. Unless we have some idea of the probable ranges of the meanings of words we cannot possibly go beyond what the authors said to why they said it. Literary criticism is a necessary part of theological interpretation. From this kind of literary criticism we then pass on to interpreting whole books and trying to see what their authors were saying, and -- to some extent -- why they spoke as they did.

But the final questions take us beyond literary criticism into the realm of theology. Why do the various New Testament books exist at all? What impelled their authors to write? Surely it was not that they wanted to achieve literary fame, for few of them were stylists and the Greek which they used is not the same as that of the ‘best’ writers of their day. Instead, it must be stated that they wrote because of their conviction that what had happened in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, and in the work of the Spirit in the new community, had given them insight into the plan of God for the salvation of men. The differences among the books and among the individual authors are due to the varying ways in which these authors understood the meaning of the events and the divine plan, and to the varying circumstances in which they wrote. Obviously it is legitimate for us to be concerned with the divergent understandings and the divergent circumstances; but we must constantly bear in mind the fact that the diversity is only an aspect of the more central unity to be found in the common faith -- in God, in Christ, and in the Holy Spirit.

The ultimate task of New Testament study, then, is to look for the whole as expressed in the parts. Often this task is rightly regarded as suspect, for students are likely either (1) to force somewhat different statements into a premature or even impossible synthesis, or (2) to treat New Testament, or biblical, doctrines as if they were absolutely normative when taken literally -- in other words, to speak as if theology had come to an end with the closing of the canon. The first error may be called the error of rationalism. The only adequate statement, on this view, is the logically consistent one; therefore the New Testament must be made logically consistent. The second error is the error of biblicism; it denies the possibility that some biblical doctrines may have been the product of the first-century mind (if such a thing existed) rather than of the biblical mind (if such a thing existed). It fails to recognize the extent to which the New Testament writings were addressed to specific historical audiences.

On the other hand, there are equally dangerous errors on the other side, as we have already suggested. (1) Students may be content with describing a mass of heterogeneous statements, insisting upon their inconsistencies, and thus losing sight of the ultimate unity of the gospel. (2) They may proceed to a rough and ready job of ‘demythologizing’, assuming that passages which they do not like are mythological and failing to see that not all such passages were meant literally. They may look for a simple, authentic (i.e., sympathetic) gospel which, freed from all its embarrassing features, may speak directly to them -- and support their own views. Both of these errors must be avoided; but no precise rules can be laid down for avoiding them. Probably, however, if a New Testament book seems to be nothing but a collection of contradictions we may suppose that we have misunderstood it; and if it clearly supports our own prejudices we may suppose that we have failed to interpret its message. The temptation to practise exegesis by removing difficult passages, and treating them as scribal errors or the work of stupid editors, should be resisted.

This is to say that in theological exegesis, just as in literary or historical criticism, we must maintain a certain measure of distance between the New Testament and ourselves. It is not so much a question of temporal distance (about 1,900 years) as it is a question of ‘emotional distance’. Otherwise the New Testament does not speak to us; we speak for ourselves and use it only as a megaphone.

The Question of Demythologizing

In recent years a favourite method of theological interpretation has been given the name ‘demythologizing’. By means of a biblical criticism ‘free from compromise’(The phrase of H. Ott, ‘Entmythologisierung’ Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart II [ed. 3], 479.) New Testament materials are first classified into something like primary and secondary. What needs demythologizing is the secondary language in which the primary was expressed, the language which speaks in a ‘worldly’ way of what is ‘unworldly’, the language of Jewish apocalyptic mythology or of Hellenistic Gnostic mythology. Such language, as Rudolf Bultmann once said, is unscientific and cannot be accepted by modern men who use electric light.

According to Bultmann the method, which has affinities with ancient allegorization, builds on what was right in the older Liberal Protestant theology and combines with it the discoveries made in the history of religions. What is primary in the New Testament, freed from mythology, is then to be interpreted in the light of modern existentialism.

One can perhaps suggest that the goal, if less methodically envisaged, is not very different from what Christian theologians have actually sought to achieve in the course of the history of theology. The rigidity of the method seems to arise, at least in part, from a faulty application of historical techniques. (1) Was only the framework of the gospel conditioned while the essence (kerygma?) remained unconditioned? (2) Was there only one ancient world view (or perhaps two -- apocalyptic and Gnostic), or did various persons hold various views? The latter conclusion is demonstrated, in my opinion, by my book Miracle and Natural Law in Graeco -Roman and Early Christian Thought (Amsterdam, 1952).

Moreover, the demythologizer, like the Liberal Protestant, finds a Jesus who in some ways resembles himself but makes the rise of Christianity incomprehensible. He makes use of classifications supposedly historical and treats central elements as peripheral. Nature miracles, sacraments, death and resurrection are assigned to Hellenistic mythology; exorcisms and prophecies belong to Jewish mythology. What remains is a Jesus who told stories and uttered wise sayings (many of them not authentic because commonplace); he was a teacher, let us say a teacher of theology. Somehow he was crucified, and later he was known to his disciples in an undefinable ‘Easter-event’. The retention of the Easter-event keeps the system from losing itself in secular philosophy, though it evidently confuses the secular philosophers to whom it is supposed to be addressed.

But let us leave philosophy to the philosophers and ask one further historical question. Presumably the mythology in which the Christians expressed themselves was intended to convey meaning to prospective converts. But we know that in antiquity there were many who regarded the Christian gospel, with or without myth, as both meaningless and untrue. Can one speak, then, of ‘the ancient world view’ as that which prevents modern men from recognizing the truth of the gospel?

An Alternative to Demythologizing

Of course, it may be argued that since demythologizing, for all its apparatus of scholarship, is highly subjective and, indeed, willful, we should steer on the opposite tack and simply take the New Testament ‘as it stands’. The appearance of objectivity thus given is spurious, however, since the New Testament does not ‘stand’ in such a manner. Behind and beyond the gospels stands the Jesus whom the evangelists both understand and misunderstand; as for the rest of the New Testament, it is obvious that the apostle Paul is more significant than (for example) Jude or the author of II Peter. Within the New Testament there is a hierarchy of significance; not everything in it is of equal importance. Therefore it is the task of the theological interpreters to discover what that hierarchy is.

The Role of Historical Analysis in Theology

Historical criticism by itself can never provide a guide to the theological understanding of the New Testament. Historical criticism can only attempt to show what was regarded as important at various historical points. The question then arises whether or not the New Testament is a self-contained unit or, at least, to be interpreted in relation only to itself and to the Old Testament. Here historical criticism is of some value, in that it can suggest that the New Testament books were written in and for a community by men who were members of that community, and that this community, originating in the work of Jesus, has a history which extended beyond his resurrection and, indeed, beyond the apostolic age. In other words, the New Testament writings cannot be understood apart from the life of the apostolic and post-apostolic Church. To be sure, Clement and Ignatius (for example) were as likely to misunderstand the meaning of the gospel as were Matthew and John -- or Paul. But the meaning of early Christianity cannot be recovered unless we take into account not only the New Testament but also the post-apostolic writings of the Apostolic Fathers and the Apologists and Irenaeus -- to mention no others.

The Theological Significance of Gnosticism

When we have mentioned the Apostolic Fathers and others, we immediately confront the question of the limits of early Christianity. It is fairly evident that Simon Magus, for example, is not a good witness for early Christian life; for one thing, he regarded himself as the saviour of mankind, or rather of a small fraction of mankind, the spiritually élite. It is more difficult to assess the evidence provided by Marcion, chiefly because Harnack regarded him as the forerunner of nineteenth-century biblical critics. But it would appear that since Marcion denied that Jesus actually lived as a human being and held that the universe was the product of an inferior god, his testimony to Christian doctrine cannot be accepted. Similarly those apocryphal writings which grind special theological axes must be viewed as belonging to the periphery of Christianity. Jerome suggested that gold might lie in the mud of these documents; but the proportion of mud is remarkably high.

Some early Christian writers, and perhaps even some New Testament writers, were influenced by what seems to us to be Gnostic terminology. But it still remains to be shown that this terminology was always Gnostic and that in Christian writings its overtones were Gnostic. Once more, ‘modern’ men often find the ‘existential’-sounding Gnostic ideas attractive. This is not to say that they (either the men or the ideas) can be regarded as Christian. One of the chief values of the Gnostic movement was that it aided the Church to define its own terms and to reject Gnosticism as such.

History, Tradition and Theology

Gnosticism ultimately denied the reality of both history and tradition by insisting upon the historical unreality of Jesus. A truly theological interpretation of the New Testament must therefore take its stand upon the ground of historical fact, recognizing that Jesus and his disciples really lived and really taught what the New Testament documents indicate they taught. At the same time, such an interpretation must not deny the reality of modern interpreters and of modern men and their ideas. It must resolutely admit the existence of distance between the New Testament and ourselves. It must not, however, exaggerate the measure of this distance. Modern men often live longer than ancient men did; all men die, and all men are subject to drives which do not vary greatly from one century to another. Their attitudes to death and to these drives will vary, but nothing beyond confusion results if we try to make the New Testament writers share our own attitudes.

The basic question is probably that of theological authority. Is authority within Christianity derived from the Bible alone, or from tradition alone? Or is it a kind of mixed authority in which scripture, tradition and reason all have rôles to play -- rôles whose significance can be assessed differently under different circumstances? It would appear -- at least, so it appears to the author -- that the second option is the only tenable one, given the existence of the Church and the necessity of modifying various aspects of Christian teaching under varying circumstances. This is to say that we read the Bible not with ‘eyes of faith’ alone but with two eyes which give perspective. With one eye we read the New Testament to see what it may say to us about the gospel and about the early Church which proclaimed the gospel. With the other we look at it more critically to see whether or not what it says to us is historically and theologically true. Both eyes are kept in focus by the use of the glasses provided by tradition, by historical scholarship, and by theological inquiry.

Conclusion

What we have been trying to indicate is that the object of New Testament study is the understanding of the New Testament. Such understanding requires us to devote our attention primarily to the New Testament itself and to enter into an encounter with what it says. For this reason we must attempt to devise some kind of method for the encounter -- not that the encounter absolutely requires the use of such a method, but that, methods being what they are, it is better to have a more adequate and explicit method than to imagine that we are not using one when we actually do so implicitly.

In dealing with the New Testament, then, the first question to be raised is this: ‘What is the New Testament?’ Answering this question requires us to investigate the history of the New Testament canon (Chapter 1). The next question is, ‘What does the New Testament say?’ The attempt to deal with this problem leads us into the realm of textual criticism and the study of translations (Chapter 2). When we have considered these two ‘what’ questions, we are ready for the further question, ‘How does the New Testament say what it says?’ Here we enter the areas of translation and of literary criticism, which is essentially the analysis of the style of the various New Testament writers. Stylistic analysis can lead us towards understanding what the authors intended to say, for style cannot easily be separated from content. The style is the instrument which the author uses for expressing his thought (Chapter 4). Only after these investigations have been made are we ready to investigate the problem of why the authors said what they said. The ultimate ‘why’ question can be answered in two ways. First, it can be answered historically, in relation to the authors’ place within the stream of Christian life and to their various environments in the ancient world (Chapter 5). Second, it can (and must) be answered theologically, in relation to the author’s purposes in setting forth their basic understanding of the gospel -- that is to say, of the ultimate meaning of the revelation of God in Christ (Chapter 6).

The fundamental questions involved, then, are the questions of ‘what’ (Chapters and 1 and 2), of ‘what’ and ‘how’ (Chapters 3 and 15), of ‘how’ and ‘why’ (Chapter 5), and of ‘why’ (Chapters 5 and 6). Naturally there is more overlapping than this schematic statement suggests. We are dealing with real phenomena (the New Testament writings) which cannot be neatly dealt with by having a schematic structure imposed on them. But it can be argued that unless all the steps of this procedure are kept in mind, somehow or other, our interpretation of the New Testament will be unbalanced and/or inadequate.

The final result of this kind of analysis will be historical, we should claim; but it will also be theological in so far as we finally concern ourselves with the basic purpose or purposes which the authors had in view. In this sense, a non-theological interpretation is inadequately historical, and a non-historical interpretation cuts theology (at any rate, Christian theology) loose from its moorings or, to change the figure, deprives the ship of its rudder.

The same point can be expressed in a different way, if one does not wish to make use of theological language but prefers to remain in the realm of the historical. The historical method, to a very considerable extent, involves placing a document in its historical context and tracing interrelations. The historical context of the New Testament documents is a double one. First, and more generally, there is the context provided by the life and thought of the Graeco-Roman world and, a little more specifically, of Judaism in this world. This context is often regarded as all-important. But there is also the second context which, for the New Testament writers themselves, was the more important of the two. This is the context provided by the life and thought of the early Christian Church. In order to understand this context it is necessary to venture into the areas of biblical and church history and of biblical and Christian theology. By laying emphasis on environmental study at both levels we can cross the bridge between history and theology, provided that we are willing to recognize a considerable measure of continuity between the early Church and the Church today.

Finally, even if we do not recognize the continuity we can at least recognize the significance of the early Church as providing the historical environment for the New Testament. Without the ‘hypothesis’ of the Church the New Testament documents are like isolated pearls without a string.

Chapter 5: Historical Criticism

Textual Criticism is concerned with the comparison of various witnesses to the early text of a document and has as its goal the establishment of its earliest form. Literary criticism is concerned with the comparison of various literary forms and materials and has as its goal the literary analysis of a document in order to ascertain the way or ways in which its author expressed his thought. Historical criticism, to which we now turn, is concerned with the time/place setting of a document, its sources, events discussed in or implied by the document. Historical criticism builds on textual and literary criticism, and its end product is the writing of history, a narrative which reports events in a sequence roughly chronological. Chronological sequence is the skeleton of history. Without it there can be no historical narrative, and no interpretation of casual relationships; for while what is prior is not necessarily the, or a, cause of what is posterior, that which is posterior can never be the, or a, cause of what is prior. For this reason those who criticize the search for ‘what actually happened’ as the study of ‘mere events’ and the results as ‘nothing but chronicle’ are mistaken. Without chronicle history cannot be written. Even the analysis of the past in relation to social, political, economic, philosophical or theological theory has to be based on a chronological sequence.

Moreover, while it may be held that the record of events provides us with a skeleton and perhaps even a body, but not with a soul or spirit, it must be remembered that a soul or spirit needs the clothing of body if it is to act historically. History is more than the history of ideas. While the sciences of tactics, strategy and logistics are obviously important in interpreting military or naval history, the history of warfare is not just the history of theory. It must be concerned with wars, campaigns and battles in which real men actually made decisions and acted upon them. Similarly, economic and social factors are undoubtedly significant; but historical events cannot be understood solely in relation to them. The Roman empire was the creation not of factors alone but of Julius Caesar and Augustus. Christianity arose not simply because of Jewish apocalypticism and Hellenistic piety but because of the work of Jesus Christ and his apostles.

Before discussing the kinds of materials which the historical critic uses, we should say something about what he can expect to learn from them. He can expect to find out a great deal about significant public events, especially battles, murders and sudden deaths. He can find out about institutions and their organization. What he cannot find out, unless the materials happen to mention it, is any account of what a private person did at a particular time and in a particular place. "To obtain this information he must rely upon accounts written by or about such a private person. No amount of inference, however plausible, can lead him to a fact about this person, for this person’s motives and actions are unique and cannot be reconstructed hypothetically. It is, of course, possible that the person himself or a later writer describing him, has misinterpreted his motives or incorrectly described his actions; but existing accounts, whatever their quality, must be given preference over the historian’s hypothetical reconstructions. (We shall later consider the problem which arises when the accounts disagree with one another.)

It should also be said that all the materials which the historian uses are modern -- that is to say, they exist now. If they did not exist now, he obviously could not use them. Some interpreters of history, or of the writing of history, have therefore argued that the historian’s work is strictly contemporary. He uses his materials in order to create a picture which has modern significance and, because he is influenced by his own religious, psychological, social and economic situation -- often in ways he does not recognize -- he is not, and should not try to be, a discoverer or recoverer of ‘what actually happened’. What happened cannot be recovered. No doubt this argument possesses some validity. Absolute ‘objectivity’ is not an attainable goal. At the same time, a historian who tries to write history rather than propaganda will not be content to impose his own will on the materials with which he deals. He will enter into a conversation with the materials from the past, a conversation in the course of which he will expect to learn something, not simply to engage in a monologue. Such a historian will recognize some of his own limitations as well as the limitations of his method and his materials, and he will try to maintain a scrupulous honesty in the face of data which do not correspond with his preconceptions.

There are various kinds of data with which the historian is concerned. (1) There are archaeological data, some of them non-literary (buildings, artifacts, etc.),others literary (inscriptions, papyri), still others ‘mixed’ (coins, medals, etc.). Those which are literary or semi-literary in nature must be examined critically. Not every official inscription conveys the whole truth about the events to which it is related; an example is provided by the inscriptions which express the joy of subject populations in celebrating the emperor’s birthday. Even a private letter, preserved on papyrus by chance, does not necessarily present a complete account of the events mentioned in it. (2) There are also non-archaeological data, materials which we know because they have been copied and recopied in the course of their transmission. These data usually consist of the literary productions of poets, philosophers, historians, and -- for that matter -- evangelists. In addition, there are literary or semi-literary documents such as letters; the originals of the Pauline epistles have been lost, but the epistles are known to us from copies of copies.

In dealing with these data there are several distinctions which can be made, and the historian must deal critically not only with the materials but also with the distinctions.

Primary and Secondary

All data have relevance in relation to some situation or other. (1) All data are contemporaneous with the time in which they were written. Thus a letter written in the year 50 is obviously significant for our synthesis of events in that year; in addition, a historical narrative, describing events in the year 10 but written in the year 50, is also significant for 50 because it reflects the interests of that year. For this reason the gospels are important witnesses to the life of the church in the time in which they were written, as well as to the life of Jesus which the evangelists endeavour to describe. The importance of this contemporaneousness should not, however, be exaggerated, since -- as we have already argued -- historical writers do not simply reflect the concerns of their contemporaries (including themselves), but enter into a dialogue with the past.

(2) Moreover, all data, to a greater or a lesser degree, provide evidence for the time before they were written, since their creators did not create ex nihilo. Their language is not their own; many of their ideas are not their own but come from previous generations. In historical writing the historian’s testimony is more significant in relation to an earlier time than in relation to his own. Thus, though it is sometimes said that the gospels provide us with evidence from the time when they were written rather than with sources dealing with an earlier period, such a statement can easily mislead the unwary. The evangelists did, indeed, testify to the meaning of Jesus in relation to their own times; but it was Jesus with whose meaning they were concerned. They and their informants were dealing with materials which had been remembered, not invented. To be sure, the locus of remembering is always in the present, but the locus of what is remembered is in the past. The early Church included individuals who not only proclaimed the gospel but also remembered who the Jesus was whose life, death and resurrection were being proclaimed. The apostle Paul was quite capable of differentiating a ‘commandment of the Lord’ from his own interpretation of it (I Cor. 7.10, 12). The fact that man has a memory means that he is not simply contemporaneous or ‘modern’.

At the same time, memory plays tricks. In analysing reports based on memory, therefore, some measure of precedence must be given to accounts written soon after the events and based on the reports of eye-witnesses. (1) The best account is written fairly soon after the event, since at that time the writer has less opportunity to see how he ought to modify the record with a view to preserving his own reputation or that of his friends. Since he cannot usually foresee later consequences he is likely to present an unvarnished account. The farther he gets from the event the more likely he is to fail, voluntarily or involuntarily, to recall and record it correctly. (2).The best account is written by, or based on the reminiscences of, an eye-witness. Such a witness has heard with his own ears and seen with his own eyes; he himself participated in the experience. He is not likely, at least at first, to combine rationalization of the event with his remembrance of it. Yet the measure of precedence the historian gives to early accounts, even by or from eye-witnesses, cannot eliminate other considerations. The eye-witness may have been so much influenced by his expectations of what ought to have taken place that he identified what should have happened with what did happen. He may not have been an accurate observer or an accurate reporter. His memory may have been more reliable than his first-hand testimony was. In other words, there are few, if any, absolutes in the writing of history.

On the other hand, we must remember that as critical analysts we may doubt the accuracy of the witness’s record but we cannot substitute our own conjectures for what he has reported. If there are two or more conflicting accounts, we can indicate which of them is to be regarded as the more trustworthy and try to explain how the other or others arose. If there is only one, we cannot invent an alternative account, since historical events are not precisely predictable. All we can do when we have a single, seemingly unreliable narrative, is to indicate why we reject it and admit our ignorance as to what actually happened -- if we think anything did happen.

Sometimes a distinction between ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ materials is used in order to make choices between differing accounts of the same, or similar, events. For example, the accounts of Paul’s career to be found in his own letter to the Galatians and in the later book of Acts are not altogether in concord. Should we then claim that his letter is a ‘primary’ source of information, Acts a ‘secondary’ one? It is most unlikely that history can be analysed so neatly. More probably, Paul writes from one standpoint, the author of Acts from another; neither account deserves absolute confidence to the exclusion of the other. The task of the historian is to compare similarities and differences and to try to construct an inclusive account which will do justice to both points of view. Furthermore, though Paul was obviously an eye-witness and Luke (as far as early events are concerned) was probably not one, it must be recalled that documents later in time (Acts) can be based on materials as early as, or earlier than, documents produced by eye-witnesses. These points mean that no absolute distinction can be drawn between ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’, at least without careful critical analysis.

Fact and Interpretation

Another common distinction is that made between ‘fact’ and ‘interpretation’. Essentially a fact is something which is, or could be, recognizable by all the possible witnesses to an occurrence. Thus it is a fact that Jesus was crucified. An interpretation, on the other hand, is essentially that of an individual or a group; it varies from individual to individual or from group to group. Caiaphas, Judas, Pontius Pilate and the apostles interpreted the crucifixion of Jesus in differing ways. Therefore, it is sometimes held, the historians will deal with the fact after separating the various interpretations from it.

To make such a separation is very difficult, for facts are almost always remembered, and accounts of them are transmitted, because they seemed meaningful both at the time the events occurred and in the period immediately afterwards. In addition, the analyst is trying to deal with the subjective interpretation(s) provided by an ancient author -- as well as with the interpretation(s) provided by that author’s source(s) -- on the basis of his own judgement. Suppose that the analyst can show that the author had a particular axe to grind. It will be hard to show that this axe was different from the axes of earlier witnesses, or that it (or they) necessarily distorted the impression(s) which the original event made on the minds of eye-witnesses at the time. The summaries which Luke gives in the first half of Acts, for example, are his own, but they may accurately reflect the early life of the Jerusalem church.

Only when two or more sources of information are available can the analyst definitely show that a subjective judgement has provided a mistaken interpretation -- or when, for example, a summary contradicts or distorts the materials being summarized. Before claiming that contradiction or distortion exists, however, the analyst must be sure that the summary is not based upon materials which the author did not reproduce. If it is based upon such materials, or if it may have been based on them, it is obviously not the product of the author’s imagination alone.

If it can be shown that one document, actually in existence, is a source of another existing document (as when Mark is employed by Luke), the analyst can proceed to show how the later writer has modified the materials he employs. Two warnings, however, need to be given at this point. (1) Analysis of Luke’s revision of Mark does not justify any conjectures about Mark’s possible revision of his other sources. We do not know what those sources were, apart from the preaching and teaching of the apostle Peter (and perhaps others), and we do not know precisely what Mark did with them. (2) The analysis cannot proceed in reverse. It cannot be claimed that the more highly ‘developed’ of two documents is necessarily the later of the two, for it must first be proved (a) that one of the two is later than the other, and (b) that the one presumably later makes use of the earlier one. This is to say that apparent literary relationships or cases of ‘development’ do not provide solid ground for chronology.

The Idea of Development

Sometimes just such an analysis is used in order to get back to the original form of a tradition or, in other words, to get close to the events or facts by tracing lines of interpretation from the known back into the unknown. Put rather crudely, this use of the theory of development can be expressed geometrically. We assume that we know points D and E on a particular line of tradition; we can assess the distance between D and E and also the direction DE. Then in theory, we can proceed to reconstruct the line (ABC)DE, and even the distances A, BC, and CD. Unfortunately the course of human events, like that of true love, does not run so smoothly. The idea of development seems to have come from biology, where it is used in reference to the process of evolution from a previous and lower (e.g., embryonic) stage to a later, more complex or more perfect one; this development can involve differentiation into individual organisms and their subsequent histories.(For this definition see The American College Dictionary [New York, 1947], 331.)

Development involves continuity among the various stages of the organism which develops. It is therefore different from change, in which the phenomenon being considered is distinctly different from what it was. There is also alteration, in which there is a partial change and the identity of the phenomenon is still preserved. It is the notion of development which best combines the elements of sameness and difference -- together with an emphasis on the growth of something living.

The basic question, however, is that of the extent to which early Christianity, for example, actually did develop, and the use of a semi-biological term may well confuse the issue by implying that the answer is already known. It may also tend to suggest that there were no radical alterations, or even changes, in the history of the early Church, or that by ‘development’ is meant a process which from small beginnings (Jesus) brought great things (the Church). Such a notion obviously does not do justice to such revolutionary events as the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus or the conversion of Paul. Whether or not there was development in the early Church, the idea of development cannot be used as a guide for the reconstruction of its history. It may serve as a hypothesis; it is not an analytical instrument.

Change and Decay

What we have said about development should also be applied to theories about an original, authentic, pure Christianity which was later distorted by various secondary factors. Such theories have a long history within, and on the edge of; the Christian Church. Marcion, for example, held that the pure gospel of Jesus was distorted by his disciples who modified it severely when they presented it to Jews; and similar notions are often latent in the work of modern scholars. Since fashions change, the contrasts developed by one generation often differ from those emphasized by the previous one; but it can be shown that underlying a good deal of study supposedly analytical in nature there is a very simple set of antitheses which are supposed to be self-evident. In previous times it was customary to contrast Jesus with Paul, or the Jesus of history with the Christ of faith, or the synoptic gospels with the Fourth Gospel. Alternatively, faith or grace could be contrasted with works, moralism, sacraments, doctrines, and creeds, and the ‘New Testament teaching’ could be found in Paul but not in James, Matthew, or the synoptic gospels in general. For a time there were those who believed that the essential ‘kerygma’ could be emphasized at the expense of the less significant ‘didache’, though the fairly obvious fact that in early Christianity ‘gospel’ included both preaching and teaching lessens the force of this contrast. More recently it has been fashionable to compare the authentic Hebrew elements in the New Testament with the less satisfactory elements which can be called ‘late Jewish’ or ‘Greek’.

The chief difficulty with these antitheses is that they are not historical. They arise out of the needs of modern writers to pick and choose among the various elements in the New Testament and Christian synthesis, and when they are used as instruments of analysis they become substitutes for thought. They are created by laying emphasis on certain distinctive, or seemingly distinctive, features in the various documents and by neglecting equally important resemblances. A warning can be given if we look at a problem in Old Testament studies. A generation ago it was customary to contrast prophetic with priestly elements. Now the pendulum has swung again, and it is recognized that much prophecy arose out of the priesthood and that priests preserved the writings of prophets. Similarly, the study of Judaism has led to the recognition that there were Greek elements in it, and that a sharp separation of Jewish from Greek ideas is not justifiable. The world in which Christianity arose was not characterized by the contrasts which some scholars have imagined to exist.

Change But No Decay

A variation on the theme of change is provided by those scholars who insist that by means of historical analysis it can be shown that Christianity was originally a movement of apocalyptic expectation within late Judaism; the prophet Jesus preached that the reign of God was at hand -- but he was wrong. Several corollaries can then be deduced from this axiom. Since the movement at first existed within Judaism and only later spread to the Hellenistic world, features which seem Jewish are authentic while those which seem Hellenistic are not (see above). Since it looked only towards the future, features which are concerned with past or present represent revisions of the original message. Since the followers of Jesus regarded him as essentially human, statements about his divine nature or function have been added to the authentic gospel, often by use of ideas derived from ‘mystery religions. Since God’s reign was immediately at hand, Jesus could not have established a church or appointed ministers for a long period of time; there were no sacraments in Judaism, therefore references to the Church or its life are not part of the original teaching of Jesus. He preached a purely Jewish gospel. After his death this gospel was changed in the Hellenistic world.

The essential difficulty with this axiom (and these corollaries) is that it rests upon a principle of historical analysis which is not tenable.(On this principle in gospel criticism see Ch. 19.) The gospel materials represent Jesus as teaching that the reign of God is not only future but also somehow present. They represent his followers as considering him both human and more than human, whether as ‘Son of God’ or as ‘Son of Man’. They represent him as appointing apostles (principally, it must be admitted, for an immediate mission) and as binding them to himself and his purpose at his last supper, in which he related his body to the broken bread and his covenant to the outpoured wine. The principle employed in dealing with these materials is that when there is discordant testimony, the evidence to be accepted is that which conflicts with the main lines of later Christian witness. (The principle is therefore analogous with the preference of early textual critics for the ‘more difficult reading’, whether or not it made sense.) Such a principle assumes that as the genuine, ‘difficult’ testimony was being modified it passed through the hands of halfhearted forgers who while inserting their own corrections of the tradition somehow felt compelled to retain a few authentic items, presumably for the benefit of modern analysts. The transmitters of tradition were thus ‘deceivers, yet true’ (II Cor. 6:8). But this assumption is not provable. A more satisfactory assumption, it would appear, is that the authentic gospel of Jesus is to be recovered by considering the various, conflicting items of evidence and by attempting to ascertain what proclamation, perhaps ambiguously expressed, could have been interpreted in divergent ways. (Again, this is like a principle of criticism; we look for the reading which could have resulted in the divergent readings now found in the manuscripts.) The original teaching of Jesus is therefore not to be found by rejecting much of the evidence we possess but by analysing all the evidence and looking for its source.

Another way of viewing the New Testament is that maintained by the ‘demythologizers’, but since this method is largely theological rather than historical (though it is supposed to have a basis in historical analysis) we shall consider it in our chapter on theological interpretation.

Environmental Study

It is obvious that in speaking of development and change we have come close to the question of the environment or environments of the New Testament writers. The study of this area has occupied a great deal of attention in modern times, before as well as after the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. The purpose of this study has been described as ‘setting the church in the village’ or, in other words, relating early Christianity to the world in (and in opposition to) which it arose.

The purpose of environmental study is not so obvious. In so far as the early Christian gospel was addressed to Jews and/or gentiles of the first century, it can certainly be understood in a more specific way if we know something about the first-century world; on the other hand, it may be that we shall be tempted to make what was intended generally more specific than it actually was when we relate it too closely to the first century. We may even develop a theory that whatever Jesus said was spoken with a specific reference and that any generalizations are the products of the early Church; such a theory is, of course, unwarranted by the evidence.

We may also try to determine how much of the village has entered the Church and its tradition and, in short, to indicate what elements in early Christianity are shared with (hence, derived from?) its environment and what elements are unique. But unless we start with the presupposition that the unique is the true it is hard to maintain that this kind of analysis can produce meaningful results. Does the gospel of Jesus, for example, consist essentially of what he did not share with his contemporaries? Are ideas which he did share with his contemporaries necessarily wrong? To put the matter a little more precisely, can we speak of an ‘ancient world view’ and thus dismiss it? To raise these questions is to suggest that environmental study conducted solely for comparative purposes leads nowhere.

On the other hand, useful negative conclusions can be reached from the study of the environment. It is often said that ancient people accepted a ‘three-storey universe’; they were wrong and we are right; therefore whatever they say about the universe is to be rejected. Examination of the evidence can indicate that (1) not all of them accepted such a cosmology, and (2) such a cosmology as such has little to do with the teaching of the New Testament. Again, it is held that ancient people accepted miracles while modern ones rightly reject them. Such a generalization is false. In antiquity, as in modern times, some believed in miracles while others did not. Such conclusions, negative in the face of contemporary scholarly clichés, can be reached not by reading modern summaries but by looking at the heterogeneous testimonies given by first-century men. Instead of making statements about ‘the ancients’ or ‘the Jews’ or ‘the Greeks’ we must resolutely face the varieties to be found among individuals, even though the individuals were certainly conditioned (to some extent) by the groups in which they found themselves.

The History of Religions

Towards the beginning of this century there was great enthusiasm for the comparative study of religions; it was often conducted by scholars who believed that when they had discovered parallels to early Christian expressions, ideas, institutions or rites in other religions they had shown that the Christian phenomena were derived from these other religions and also that their meaning within Christianity was essentially the same as it was within the other religion or religions. In addition, some of them believed that theories based on phenomena in other religions could be applied without alteration to the phenomena of early Christianity. Since some Greek myths were ‘aetiological’ (composed in order to explain the origins of rites), the story of the Last Supper could be treated as an aetiological myth, intended to explain the origin of the Christian Eucharist -- which actually came from the Hellenistic mystery religions. Similarly Paul’s idea of dying and rising with Christ, and perhaps the belief in Christ’s resurrection itself, came from a prior notion about dying and rising saviour-gods in the Graeco-Roman world. The notion that baptism meant rebirth was viewed as pagan in origin, largely because of the evidence provided by some inscriptions of the fourth century of the Christian era.

The absurdities to which this kind of study led resulted in its being generally discredited, although more recently it seems to be flourishing again in different form. The more modern view is that everything, or almost everything, in early Christianity can be explained as derived either (1) from the kind of Jewish apocalypticism represented by the Dead Sea Scrolls or (2) from the kind of Gnostic thought reflected in the writings criticized by the early Church Fathers or found at Nag-Hammadi in Egypt. Undoubtedly there are affinities between early Christianity and the Qumran community, and less significant ones between early Christianity and Gnosticism. But in each case the differences require as much attention as the resemblances do, and chronological priority, even when it can be established, does not prove the existence of causal connection. Post hoc is not the same as propter hoc.

Early Christianity certainly deserves to be studied by the historian of religions, and by other students who use his methods. But the methods need to be applied with extreme caution. Is the student studying the history of religion in general or the history of specific religions? More fruitful results will probably be obtained by respecting the individuality of religions as of men -- in other words, by emphasizing the word ‘history’.

A Final Problem

An important aspect of modern New Testament study is the very fact of its modernity or, rather, its supposed modernity. It is obvious that some progress has been made in the course of the last century or so; few scholars today would suppose that New Testament history is significantly illuminated by the use of the terms ‘thesis, antithesis, synthesis’. But as we have repeatedly pointed out, other clichés are often employed, no better for their being more recent. It is an open question whether or not genuine progress exists in this area of study. Certainly new evidence has become available, and to the extent that it has been utilized adequately it can be said that some advance has taken place.

It should be said, however, that in each generation an adequate or partially adequate understanding of the New Testament can be achieved only by the abandonment of the ‘assured results’ of the previous generation and by the fresh creation of openness to the text and to what it may say. The historical method must be employed in dealing with historical critics.

Why, then, should the study be continued if it has not led, and is not likely to lead, to any final results? The answer to this question lies not in any notion of inevitable progress but in the study itself. By means of critical-historical study, properly conducted, each generation comes to know the New Testament -- not necessarily more thoroughly than its predecessors knew it, but more thoroughly than at the time it began its own work. Once more, however, we must avoid speaking of ‘generations’ or groups when we ought to keep the individual in mind. The progress of the individual student can be real though that of his generation may be dubious. Only he can resolutely refine his own method and try to keep himself free from the erroneous generalizations and bad logic which stand in the way of historical understanding.( For an excellent statement about historical method see Samuel Eliot Morison, By land and by Sea (New York, 1953), 346-59; reprinted from the American Historical Review 56 [1951], 26-75.)

Above all, the historical analyst must not be ashamed of confessing ignorance -- not the easy ignorance due to failure to investigate what can be known, but the hard ignorance due to the real lack of historical records. No amount of speculation supposedly historical can fill in the gaps which exist in our records. No amount of theory can be a substitute for evidence. Moreover, no final explanation can be given, in many instances or perhaps in all, for historical events of which we have some records. The ‘explanations’ we provide of the life of Paul or the life of Jesus still leave us with mysteries which will never be explained.

The Necessity of Historical Understanding

Thus far we have concentrated our attention upon negative factors practically to the exclusion of positive ones. We have almost made it appear that historical understanding of the New Testament is an impossibility. In large measure this result has come about because of our phenomenological or, one might say, nominalist approach to the question. It could easily be charged that we have concentrated upon the trees and have lost sight of the forest. As we have been urging that historical understanding goes beyond literary and textual criticism in the direction of subjectivity, we have neglected the objectivity which is given our study by the existence of what we may call the phenomenon behind the phenomena. This phenomenon, more important for historical study than the isolated data which reflect it, is the existence of the early Church. Without awareness of the existence of the Church the isolated data remain isolated. It is the Church in its empirical, historical existence which holds them together and allows us to make sense of them. Without the Church the data might mean almost anything. Indeed, in early Gnostic communities the data did mean almost anything, since the Gnostics were not adherents of the visible Church and were therefore free to interpret New Testament texts in a wholeheartedly subjective way. Only by postulating or, rather, admitting the existence of the Church can we hold the data together and see that they reflect the Church’s life and thought.

Of course the existence of the Church can be treated as a merely static hypothesis or fact, and the correlation of the various data can be made on grounds appropriate to such a static situation. Such an analysis, like the atomistic analysis which we have so far advocated, proceeds on non-historical lines to discover eternal truths or absolutes which may do justice to some aspects of the Church’s gospel but cannot adequately be related to the variety of outlook present in the New Testament and other early Christian literature.

Because of this inadequacy it would appear that another approach is likely to be more fruitful. This different kind of approach must be one in which the unity and continuity of the Church’s life is recognized but, at the same time, the diversity characteristic of any historical process (that is to say, of real events) can be accepted. To say this means that the New Testament must be viewed not only as the Church’s book but specifically as the early Church’s book. It is the book which shows how the good news was brought from Galilee to Jerusalem and to the ends of the Graeco-Roman world. To illustrate the change, or development, which accompanied this movement we may cite two texts:

Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God come with power.

He has granted to us his precious and very great promises, that through these you may escape from the corruption which is in the world because of passion, and become partakers of the divine nature.

The first is from the words of Jesus according to Mark; the second is from II Peter. Between the two lies a process, whether long or short, in the course of which the Christian gospel was redirected in order to become more fully comprehensible to those who lived and thought in the Graeco-Roman world.

The business of historical criticism is to deal with the diverse materials in the New Testament (and in other early Christian literature) and to show (1) their unity in relation to the mission of the Church and (2) the relation of their diversity to the various cultural currents within which the mission was carried on. In other words, historical study should set forth the elements of continuity and discontinuity in the Church’s life.

There are, of course, other features of the Church’s life, in addition to the question of Hellenization, which deserve attention. First there is the nature of the proclamation of Jesus as the Church remembered it. Was this gospel of the kingdom related (1) exclusively to the future or (2) exclusively to the present or (3) in part to both future and present? Is there any difference between the emphasis found in Galilean preaching and that found at Jerusalem? Second, there is the critical situation in the church of Jerusalem as it confronted, or was confronted by, the mission to gentiles. How was this problem solved -- in so far as it was really solved? Third, how did the preaching of Paul to gentiles differ from his preaching to Jews? To what extent was it the same? What held the two kinds of preaching together? Fourth, how did the misunderstandings of his gospel, as reflected in his various letters, come into existence? To what extent did he agree, to what extent disagree, with his opponents of various kinds? Fifth, as members of the Church recorded the common memories of Jesus what did they continue to hold in common and what did they feel free to modify? What (historically) can explain the rather remarkable differences (1) among the synoptic gospels, (2) among all four gospels, and (3) between the synoptics as a group and the Gospel of John? Sixth, what is the difference, if any, between New Testament writings and those of the Apostolic Fathers and the Apologists? Seventh, what factors caused the Church to regard some or all of the New Testament books as canonical’ while gradually coming to view the writings of the Apostolic Fathers (and other books) as extra-canonical?

Such questions as these require historical answers and lead us beyond the confines of the New Testament as a collection of books to the historical reality of the life of the early Church to which they bear witness. The New Testament points backward to the Old Testament and the old Israel and forward to other early Christian literature and the later Church; still more directly, it points behind or underneath itself to the Christian community in which and for which it was written. It remains incomprehensible unless the existence of this Church is recognized. It is the Church which both historically and theologically holds the New Testament together.

This is to say that the New Testament is the book of the early Church not only in the sense that the New Testament was written for use by the Church but also in the sense that it reflects the life of the Church. The New Testament is a collection of isolated documents and almost random theological statements for anyone who does not recognize the Church reflected and expressed in it. In other words, the New Testament sets forth the beginning, and contains the classical formulation, of the life of the Christian Church; the New Testament documents are the primary documents of church history and of the history of Christian thought. They are classical in the sense that the Church chose them as adequate representations of its beginnings or, to put it more precisely, of its original and thus permanently significant expressions. At the same time, they do not suggest that the Church can be regarded as a static entity. They come out of a historical process, and the dynamism of this process implies that whenever the later Church is true to its origins it too is dynamic.

The purpose, then, of New Testament study is to take the various documents and the insights expressed in the documents and to reconstruct the life out of which the documents and the insights emerged. We have already said more than enough about the necessity for caution in assigning semi-canonical status to our reconstruction. It can never be more than probable; at the same time, it can be rather highly probable, and we should not ask for more. No historical knowledge is more than probable. Of course it is possible to avoid risks by remaining within the circle of what the documents say and simply paraphrasing them. But such paraphrasing contributes nothing to historical knowledge. Such ‘exegesis’ cannot be related to anything else we know. It stands in splendid isolation, and so does whatever else we may be able to ascertain. Historical knowledge involves the risk of interpretation.

Chapter 4: Literary Criticism

Since the New Testament is a collection of books, these books are subject to literary analysis. Books do not just grow, but are composed by authors who have certain goals in view and follow certain methods in arranging and composing their materials. Presumably their goals can be discovered, to some extent, by considering the circumstances under which they wrote, but since (in our opinion) this kind of consideration belongs to historical criticism we refrain from discussing it at this point. Literary criticism is properly concerned with analysing the author’s purposes and achievements by means of a detailed examination of the works themselves. We thus agree with what Allen Tate says of poets:

Poets, in their way, are practical men; they are interested in results. What is the poem, after it is written? That is the question. Not where it came from, or why. The Why and Where can never get beyond the guessing stage because, in the language of those who think it can, poetry cannot be brought to ‘laboratory conditions’.

To Tate’s What, however, we must add (as he himself would) the question of How. In attempting to understand a literary work, we cannot simply read it; we must analyse its structure as a whole and in relation to the various parts, since the structure is an indispensable part of the author’s achievement.

But we cannot begin with the work as a whole. The whole cannot be understood -- even though its structure can sometimes be outlined -- before the sentence units are analysed. Generally speaking, the structure of an entire New Testament book is less easily grasped than the constituent sentences are.

It may be asked why, in our search for units which can be readily understood, we do not begin with individual words. The reason for beginning with sentences lies in our understanding of the nature of New Testament language. In dealing with translations we have already pointed to a number of ways in which the meanings of individual words can be and have been illuminated. But it is our opinion that individual words, no matter how carefully investigated, cannot be understood as exactly or precisely as can the structure of a sentence, especially in an articulated language like Greek. We should claim that the proper approach to a New Testament document, while necessarily involving at least an approximation to the translation of individual words, begins with the diagramming of the sentences in such a way as to bring out the interrelations of words, phrases and clauses. Greek writers did not simply choose to write in a patterned manner; they had to write in a patterned manner because of the nature of their language, and in order to understand them we must understand the structure within which their thought moved.

It is of course possible that by diagramming in this way one may get an over-precise interpretation of thoughts which somehow transcended the limitations of language. But it is surprising how often ‘such writings as the Pauline epistles actually do conform to the rules of Greek sentence-structure.

The Sentence

There are certain features about New Testament sentences which immediately strike the reader’s eye, at least the eye which sees them diagrammed. For instance, it is obvious that many of the sayings of Jesus as reported in the synoptic gospels contain parallelism, a feature also characteristic of much of the poetic language of the Old Testament. Sometimes this parallelism is synonymous. Approximately the same meaning is expressed in two slightly different ways.

Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm?

to save a life or to kill? (Mark 3:4)

If a kingdom be divided against itself,

that kingdom cannot stand;

and if a house be divided against itself,

that house cannot stand (Mark 3:24-5).

There is nothing hid

but that it should be revealed,

nor was anything made secret

but that it should come to light (Mark 4.22)

Sometimes the parallelism is antithetical.

He who has,

it will be given to him;

and he who has not,

from him it will be taken away (Mark 4.25).

And Sometimes it is chiastic (from the Greek letter ‘chi’, which looks like a cross or X).

You know that

those who are thought to rule over the gentiles

lord it over them, and

(b) their great men exercise authority over them.

But it is not so among you. But

whoever wishes to be great among you

shall be your servant, and

(a) whoever wishes to be first among you

shall be the slave of all (Mark 10:42-4).

The words ‘but it is not so among you’ indicate that the parallel is also antithetical.

It is perhaps worth noting at this point that in the synoptic gospels such parallelism occurs only in sayings, not in comments made by the authors themselves. On the other hand, in the Gospel of John it is to be found not only in sayings of Jesus but also in what the evangelist says. Indeed, at some points it is impossible to determine whether it is the evangelist or Jesus who is speaking.

God so loved the world

that he gave his only Son

that whoever believes in him should not perish

but have eternal life.

For God sent his Son into the world

not to judge the world

but that the world should be saved through him

(John 3:16-17).

Parallelism is also common in the letters of the apostle Paul. From among the many examples we cite only a few.

He who sows sparingly

shall also reap sparingly;

and he who sows bountifully

shall also reap bountifully (II Cor. 9.6).

All things are lawful, but not all things are expedient; all things are lawful, but not all things edify (I Cor. 10.23).

There are diversities of gifts,

but the same Spirit;

and there are diversities of ministrations,

yet the same Lord;

and there are diversities of operations,

but the same God . . . (I Cor. 12:4-6).

Naturally Paul’s style does not consist of parallelisms alone, even though he is very fond of them. In Greek, more than in Hebrew, the structure of a sentence is often controlled by the prepositions which indicate the relations between the various nouns and verbs. By considering the sentence-structure in relation to the prepositions, the precise meaning of the sentence often becomes clear.

For us there is one God the Father

of whom are all things and

unto whom are we;

and one Lord Jesus Christ,

through whom are all things and

through
whom are we (I Cor. 8.6).

Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him were

created all things . . ;

all things were created through him and unto him;

and he is before all things,

and all things hold together in him (Col. 1.15—17).

Sometimes the precise relationship of the prepositions is not so clear.

Whom God set forth as an expiation

through faith

by his blood

for the demonstration of his righteousness

through the remission of past sins

in the forbearance of God;

for
the demonstration of his righteousness

at the present time. . . (Rom. 3:25-6).

The words translated ‘by his blood’ may mean ‘in his blood’; in that case, the meaning of the sentence would be somewhat different.

The Paragraph

After we have looked at individual sentences we are in a position to proceed to the paragraph. Sometimes, indeed often, Paul constructs his paragraphs with great care. For example, when he is giving exact instructions to the Corinthians about eating meat he uses a structure almost legal in form.

  1. Eat everything sold in the meat-market,

    making no distinctions for conscience’ sake;


    for ‘the earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof’

    (Ps. 24:1).
  2. If any unbeliever invites you (and you wish to go),

    eat everything
    set before you,

    making no distinctions for conscience’ sake.
  3. But if anyone says to you, ‘This has been sacrificed,’

    do not eat, for the sake of him who warned you and of conscience

    — I mean not your own but that of your neighbour

    (I Cor. 10:25-8).

An example of a longer paragraph carefully put together occurs in I Corinthians 2, where a similar arrangement by sense-lines can be provided; but the most famous example is to be found in I Corinthians 13. Here there is a magnificent combination of repetition and variety. The passage begins with a contrast between various gifts and virtues and the supreme gift of love.

If I — and have not love, I have become-------.

And if I—and—and-------,

and if I —, and have not love, I am-------.

And if I------‘

and if I —, and have not love, I am-------.

The second section is based primarily on verbs which indicate love’s nature. First come two positive verbal statements; then a verb with a negative is followed once by the noun love, five times by negative verbal statements. A transition to the positive is made by means of an antithetical parallel, and the section ends with four verbs whose object is call things’.

(positive) Love —,

— love;

(negative) it does not

love does not------ (six verbs)

(transition)
it does not rejoice over unrighteousness,

but it rejoices with the truth;

(positive) all things it — (four times).

The third section describes the finality of love by means of a series of contrasts which recall the themes of the first section.

(contrasts) Love never fails;

if there are —, they will be------;

if there are —, they will —;

if there is —, it will be-------.

(transition) For we — in part and we — in part;

but when the perfect comes, the partial will

be—.

(an example) When I was a child,

I---- as a child (three examples),

but when I became a man,

I put away the things of a child.

(eschatological conclusion) Thus far we see ----,

but then

Thus far I know in part,

but then,-------.

(summary) Faith, hope, and love last, these three;

but the greatest of these is love.

Some of the points can be arranged differently, but it is clear that a carefully planned arrangement does exist. To discover such structures in the New Testament writings is the primary task of exegesis. If we can understand them, we can at least begin to understand what the writers intended to say.

Special Paragraph Structures

In addition to the general problem of understanding sentences and paragraphs, there is also the question of particular literary forms which Paul and others may employ. One obvious example is the salutation which we should expect to find in a letter. Less obvious is the thanksgiving which occurs not only in the Pauline epistles (except Galatians) but also in other letters of Hellenistic and Roman times. Such thanksgivings often set forth themes which are later taken up in the body of the letter itself. (This subject is fully discussed by Paul Schubert in his Form and Function of the Pauline Thanksgivings, 1939.) In addition, Graeco-Roman writers were well aware of the possibilities provided by the ecthes is, or carefully planned digression (I Corinthians 13 is an example).

Sometimes literary and oral style overlap, as in the instances where Paul addresses his readers as individuals (e.g. Rom. 2:1 ff.; cf. also James 2:18 ff.) or quotes from what some of them have said or written, as in I Corinthians (6:12-13; perhaps 6:18b; 8:1, 4, 8; 10:23). This manner of writing, reflected also in the question, ‘Don’t you know that... ?’, is characteristic of the descriptions of the diatribe or popular philosophical address developed by Cynics and Stoics. (Lists of virtues and vices, as well as brief descriptions of family duties, were also common among Graeco-Roman writers.)

A fascinating example of a special kind of paragraph occurs in II Corinthians 1:23-33, where Paul is reluctantly ‘boasting’ to the Corinthians. As Anton Fridrichsen pointed out, this ‘catalogue of crises’ finds remarkably close stylistic similarities in the descriptions of the careers of kings and other potentates which were engraved on stone or related in Graeco-Roman biographies. These descriptions, like Paul’s, make use of ‘many times’ and of precise numbers as well; sometimes, like Paul’s, they contain brief accounts of significant episodes. The difference, of course, lies in the content. Kings list their achievements; Paul lists examples of his sufferings on behalf of Christ.

Another special kind of paragraph structure which should be mentioned at this point is the parable, characteristic of the teaching of Jesus and that of his rabbinical contemporaries. This structure deserves notice especially because of the dogmatic assumptions associated primarily with the work of Adolf Jülicher (Die Gleichnisreden Jesu). Jülicher was trying to free the parables of Jesus from the ‘over-interpretation’ which had frequently been given them in patristic and medieval exegesis. He therefore sharply differentiated allegory from parable. According to his definitions, an allegory was an artificial story intended to convey a variety of meanings; a parable was a realistic story which made one, and only one, point. Unfortunately, while his general idea is correct, not all the parables of Jesus are realistic and not all of them convey only one point. Sometimes, as also among the rabbis, allegory and parable overlap, and we are not in a position to reject those parables which seem to convey more than one meaning or, for that matter, the explanations of the parables which occur in the gospels themselves.

Words

We have seen that to understand the New Testament writings we must examine the literary form of sentences and paragraphs. Only after doing so can we turn to the smallest units of expression, the words. But we must remember that the meanings of words depend primarily on the function the words perform within the sentences. One might suppose that the simple connective ‘kai’ ordinarily translated ‘and’, would be easy enough to translate, or that ‘kai . . . kai’ could always be rendered as ‘both . . . and’. Such is not the case. ‘Kai’ obviously means two different things in the following sentence. ‘And ("kai"), passing by the sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and ("kai") Peter’ (Mark 1:16). The first refers to a temporal sequence; the second, to the association of two objects of vision. Sometimes the word can bear an adversative sense (‘and yet’); sometimes it is ‘otiose’, conveys practically no meaning, and should not be translated.

When we pass beyond this kind of word to the more difficult terms such as prepositions, we encounter the fact that both in popular Greek and in ordinary English, prepositions are fairly fluid in meaning. The Greek word ‘en’ can mean ‘in’; it can also mean ‘with’, ‘by’, or ‘to’. Its precise meaning depends on the context. And when we go on to key words like justification, redemption, salvation, grace (and others) we confront the problem of finding English equivalents (see Chapter m) and, more important, of trying to delimit the range of meanings. We have already seen some of the ways in which scholars have tried to make use of papyri and of the Septuagint, not to mention Hellenistic literature in general. Such dictionaries as those of Walter Bauer and Gerhard Kittel provide indispensable help.

( But they cannot give us precise definitions of any of these words. They can tell us what meanings the words seem to possess in various writings; we cannot be sure that Paul, for example, always intended to convey any of these meanings in his letters.

Often the best analogies for the meanings of words and the overtones which an author intended to convey are provided in the author’s own writings. Thus Bultmann has pointed out that for Paul the verb ‘pisteuo’ often bears the meaning ‘obey’ as well as ‘believe’. The author’s own usage must be decisive. He was (ordinarily) the master of his own language.

The Question of Interpolations

Thus far we have been assuming that the documents we possess are the documents the New Testament authors wrote, in spite of the presence of a few textual difficulties. Such cases as Mark 16:9-20 and John 7:33-8:11 are exceptional. But literary critics often attempt to go beyond textual evidence and discover interpolations by using literary criteria alone. We must therefore discuss these criteria and attempt to assess the results of applying them.

Obviously the evidence provided by ancient manuscripts is of primary importance. Passages omitted by early scribes often deserve to have been omitted. On the other hand, if various manuscripts present essentially the same content but with variations in expression we cannot be certain that the passage involved is to be deleted. Probably one or another of the manuscripts has preserved the original version.

After textual criticism comes literary analysis as such. Three questions can be raised. (1) Does the passage in question contain words or phrases alien to the rest of the author’s known work? If it does, we may regard it as suspect -- though we must remember that vocabularies change and that, even at one time, an author does not use all the words he knows. Closely related to this is the question as to whether or not words in the suspect passage are used in senses different from those in which the author elsewhere employs them -- though this question too must be raised with caution, since authors can, after all, use one word to mean several things and several words to convey one meaning. (2) Does the passage in question reflect the style used in other parts of the author’s work? If it does not, we may suspect the presence of interpolation. On the other hand, it must be remembered that one author can write in several styles and that in antiquity those who were trained in writing were taught to imitate the styles of various models. Sometimes scholars have listed criteria for finding interpolations by criticizing the style of certain passages. They assume that such an author as John could write well, and therefore interpolations may exist where there are (a) compositional difficulties (‘when, then, the Lord knew that the Pharisees had heard that Jesus was making and baptizing more disciples than John,’ John 4:1), (b) contradictions (‘yet Jesus himself was not baptizing; his disciples were,’ 4:2), and (c) obscurities. An excellent example of obscurity occurs in John 4:43-5.

After two days he went forth from there into Galilee. For Jesus himself testified that a prophet has no honour in his own country. When, then, he came into Galilee the Galileans received him, having seen everything that he had done in Jerusalem at the feast; for they themselves had gone to the feast.

What is the sequence of ideas in this passage? Origen found it so difficult that he was sure it was meant allegorically; and he may have been right. The difficulty with these three criteria lies in the assumption that an author (a) never has compositional difficulties, (b) never contradicts himself, and (c) always writes, and intends to write, clearly. This assumption is not necessarily correct.

Literary critics sometimes pass beyond these criteria in the direction of historical criticism. They analyse documents in relation to (1) the presumed author’s life and thought, (2) the known course of historical events, and (3) the assumed development of early Christian life and thought. The first of these methods can be regarded as still within the limits of literary criticism. Passages which are inconsistent with what is definitely known about an author’s life or thought (as reflected in his writings) may well be regarded as interpolations. In most instances in the New Testament, however, not enough is known about these phenomena for us to be able to say with certainty what is inconsistent with them. The second and third of the methods go well beyond literary criticism. The fact that something seems unhistorical to us does not imply that it seemed unhistorical to a New Testament writer or that, for that matter, he was writing what we should regard as history. For example, it has often been assumed that the description of the last times in Mark 13 was written either before or after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 but, in any event, with closer attention to the book of Daniel than to historical events. On the other hand, the precise reference to the devastation of Jerusalem by a hostile army in Luke 21:20-4 has suggested that Luke is writing after the fall of the city. C. H. Dodd has pointed out, however, that Luke’s reference may well be derived from Old Testament passages which speak of the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BC. Mark, then, is close to Daniel; Luke is close to earlier prophets, and the passage is of no use in dating his book.

As for the third method, it cannot be discussed until we have considered the idea of development as applied to early Christian history (Chapter IV).

Questions of Authorship

In antiquity, as we have already seen when discussing the canon, questions were raised about the authorship of various New Testament books. When such questions arose, they were treated primarily in relation to the vocabulary, style and ideas of the authors involved. Thus it was claimed that Paul did not write Hebrews (Origen), that the author of I Peter did not write II Peter (Jerome), and that the author of the Fourth Gospel did not write Revelation (Dionysius of Alexandria). At this point it is enough to say that all these claims are almost certainly correct.

In modern times the range of questioning has widened, and many scholars have held that Paul did not write either Ephesians or the Pastoral Epistles, while none of the Catholic Epistles was written by the author assigned to it. Some have also questioned the authenticity of Colossians and II Thessalonians. In addition, doubts have been vigorously expressed about the authorship of the four gospels, and of the book of Revelation as well. Interestingly enough, if we ask what remains unchallenged we find that it consists of seven Pauline epistles and (probably) of a true tradition behind the gospels. Such a view is almost the same as that advocated by Marcion in the second century. But to suggest that the view is like Marcion’s does not relieve us from the responsibility of examining it.

We must therefore consider the criteria for judging authorship. They are much the same as those used in dealing with interpolations, except that the areas of investigation are wider and there is even more use of something like historical criticism. (1) Textual criticism is not especially relevant in so far as the authorship of the document is concerned. More important is the question whether or not old and. valuable witnesses contain it. For example, the third-century Beatty papyri are fragmentary at the beginning and the end of the Pauline epistles. From what is missing at the beginning we can calculate the number of pages missing at the end, since the papyrus leaves were simply laid on top of one another and folded. There is not enough space for all the Pastoral Epistles; therefore they were not to be found in this manuscript. But an American scholar noticed that as the scribe got closer to the end of his manuscript his writing became smaller and more cramped. This point suggests that like us he was aware that he had miscalculated the number of pages he needed, and that he may well have intended to include the Pastorals. If his error was too conspicuous, he could have glued on a few additional pages. (2). By means of literary criticism we can compare the vocabulary and style of a questioned document with similar phenomena in unquestioned documents. Thus I Peter has only a hundred words in common with II Peter, while 369 in I Peter are not in II Peter and 230 in II Peter are not in I Peter. This kind of analysis seems fairly conclusive. The two documents were not written by one author. On the other hand, when we consider the relation of the Pastorals and Ephesians to the major Pauline epistles we find an anomalous situation. About a third of the words in the Pastorals do not occur in the other Pauline letters; about a sixth of those in Ephesians are similarly lacking. Admittedly the proportion of ‘new’ words in the Pastorals seems rather high, especially when compared with that in Ephesians. Two questions arise, however. (a) To what extent are we able to judge authenticity on this basis, when we have so few materials with which to deal? It may be that the statistical foundation is absent. (b) What proportion of ‘new’ words is to be regarded as acceptable? In Romans, as compared with earlier Pauline letters, about a quarter of the words are ‘new’. Should we say that a quarter is just right, while a third is too much and a sixth is too little? To ask this question is to indicate the absurdity of claiming that this method gives precise results. Stylistic differences may be more significant, though it is difficult to assess their importance exactly. As we have already seen in looking at Paul, he uses different styles on different occasions. Similarly the style of Luke 1:1-4 is very different from that of the two chapters which follow, and in the book of Acts the style becomes more polished as the apostle Paul goes out into the Graeco-Roman world. Presumably the author intended to create this variation. (3) Historical criticism has a special rôle to play in questions of authorship, for these questions would probably not arise were there not ancient traditions which have come to be doubted. Historical and literary criticism thus overlap when the tradition about authorship is being examined. For instance, what Papias tells us about the literary activities of Mark and Matthew has to be considered, as well as what Justin says about the evangelists and the author of Revelation and what Irenaeus relates about the gospels, Acts and the Pauline epistles, and Revelation. Modern scholars have often been highly suspicious of these early Fathers’ remarks, and have argued that they reflect inferences from the New Testament books rather than trustworthy traditions. It may be suggested, however, that even if this is the case the Fathers were not necessarily wrong; and it seems hard to deny that they could have possessed reliable information.

We conclude that while some New Testament books may have been ascribed to authors who did not write them, each case has to be considered with great care and caution. Unless highly convincing evidence can be produced against the tradition, there is no reason not to accept it.

Sources

Another function of literary criticism is that of determining the sources used by an author in composing his work. Admittedly this function is less important than that of analysing the meaning of the work itself. But it is often useful to note, by comparing the author’s work with the source or sources he used, what changes he has made and what he has added or deleted. The discovery of sources is a more difficult process than might be supposed, for in antiquity, as H. J. Cadbury has observed, authors are accustomed not to name the sources they use, and to name sources they do not use.

There are two obvious examples of the use of sources in the New Testament. The first is provided when we find in the second chapter of II Peter a slightly revised version of the Epistle of Jude. Here the stylistic improvements suggest that II Peter is using Jude, not vice versa. The second occurs in Ephesians, much of which is so close to Colossians in content and in vocabulary as to indicate that the author of Ephesians, whether Paul or someone else, was producing a revised version of the earlier epistle. It is likely that Ephesians follows Colossians because the specific situation and specific persons involved in Colossians are lacking.

More significant source-relations are involved in the three synoptic gospels. At many points their wording is so closely similar that we must assume that one or another of the following possibilities is a probability: (1) Mark and Luke followed Matthew; (2) Matthew and Mark followed Luke; (3) Matthew and Luke followed Mark; (4) Matthew followed Mark and Luke; (5) Luke followed Matthew and Mark; or (6) Mark followed Matthew and Luke. All these solutions are possible; we shall later argue that only one of them is probable (Chapter VIII).

In this chapter we have said nothing about the matters, often regarded as belonging to literary criticism, which concern the date and the place of writing of particular documents. In our opinion these matters do not belong to literary criticism. They are concerned with temporal and spatial correlations and therefore belong to historical criticism. Literary criticism is concerned with a document as a document, with the structure of a book rather than with its historical setting or purpose. Obviously we do not intend to exclude historical understanding from our analysis. We claim, however, that literary interpretation comes first.

The primary function of literary criticism, then, is the understanding of the structure of a document and the reflection of the author’s purpose as expressed by means of this structure. In the course of performing this primary function a secondary function arises. Do certain passages, or even certain books, reflect the structural procedures of a particular author? It may be necessary to exclude them as interpolations or additions if we are to understand the author’s literary purpose. A similar question arises when we deal with his sources, actual and potential. Something of the structure he provides may be due to the necessity for coming to terms with his sources. The secondary function performed by interpolation-theories and source-criticism may therefore assist the critic in achieving his primary goal: the literary understanding of his materials.

Chapter 3: The Nature of Translation

We face the question of translation: We are not first-century Greeks. We all use translations. Thus we need some clear principles for translating. 1. What did the word mean to the author? 2. What did that word mean to the earliest readers? 3. What has it come to mean in later times? We must avoid a clear defined meaning to all the mysteries of the Bible. We must not place New Testament words and thoughts into an inflexible meaning.

Text:

From ancient times the meaning of translation has been a problem. One of the most vigorous debates of the late fourth century was concerned with the question as to how to translate Origen’s treatise On First Principles from Greek into Latin. Both sides agreed that a word-for-word translation was useless; one had to translate meanings, not fragments. The question of meaning then had to be faced. In several respects Origen’s doctrine differed from that regarded as orthodox by his translators. Should one lay more emphasis on Origen’s intention to be orthodox, and then modify his statements in the direction of later orthodoxy? This was the procedure employed by Rufinus. Or should one translate just about what he said, pointing out that at various points his views were heretical? Jerome took this course and accused Rufinus of falsification.

It is obvious that the same kind of problem arises when one translates the New Testament. To be sure, no one expects the New Testament writers to use the terminology of later orthodox theology. But one does expect that they will not absolutely disagree with one another, or with the main thrust of the Old Testament, since they regarded it as inspired and prophetic. If one is translating their meaning rather than their exact words, one inevitably enters the realm of theology; one cannot remain strictly philological -- if such a situation is really conceivable.

The question of translation is extremely important in dealing with the New Testament because (1) we are not first-century Greeks (in Palestine or elsewhere) and (2) we all use translations, whether we use those prepared by others or attempt to translate for ourselves. If we use the translations of others, we need some kind of guidance in choosing among them. If we make our own, we need to have in mind some clear principles for translating.

At first glance, it might appear simple enough to make a translation. Assuming that we ‘know Greek’ or, in other words, have studied its grammar, syntax and vocabulary to such an extent that we do not get lost when confronted with a simple Greek sentence, we may suppose that we can proceed directly to the New Testament perhaps to the Gospel of John -- and then, making use of the rules we have learned and the dictionary we have acquired, ‘render’ it into English. Sometimes, to be sure, such is almost the case. ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ If we refrain from asking questions about the meaning of ‘beginning’, ‘Word’ and ‘God’, we may be able to believe that we have an adequate translation. But there is still the difficult word ‘and’. What function does it perform in the sentence? And have we translated correctly when we place the three clauses in a straightforward sequence like the one just given? Or should the verse read thus? --

In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

Apart from these questions, there is of course the problem of the meanings of the words. How do we determine what the words mean? Do we look them up in a simple pocket lexicon which may tell us that ‘logos’ means only ‘word’? Do we go on to a larger dictionary which will inform us that ‘logos’ has a wide range of meanings? And, if we go on, how do we tell which meaning or meanings was or were intended by the author or understood by his readers, early or late?

It seems fairly likely that what the author intended can best be understood by looking at the immediate context of the passage we are translating. If we look at the context of this verse in John, we find that the subject of discussion seems to change from Word through Life to Light, and that nothing more is directly stated about the Word until we reach the sentence which says that ‘the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory.’ But a ‘word’ which ‘became flesh’ is not the kind of word which is known in ordinary English usage. How, then, are we to translate ‘logos’? Should we run the risk of ambiguity by simply calling it ‘Word’ (with a capital letter, since ‘the Word of God’) -- or should we venture into the equally risky area of paraphrase?

Now the sentence with which John begins his gospel is relatively simple when compared with some of the ‘hard to understand’ (II Pet. 3:16) passages in the Pauline epistles; and in all such instances we are likely to fall into two traps, one on either side of whatever the true path may be. (1) We may take the writings, one by one or all together, and translate them in such a way as to lay emphasis upon the divergent words, phrases and ideas to be found in them. The result of this process will ordinarily be that we shall find the authors contradicting themselves and one another. We shall then be tempted to suppose that various hands in the manuscript have reflected the ideas of various persons; in other words, the documents have been interpolated.

(2) On the other hand, we may try to treat the writings so synthetically that we neglect the real differences to be found in them and among them; the result will be that we overlook the genuine diversity to be found not only in style but also in thought and may give the impression that a non-existent uniformity exists.

This is to say that absolutely rigid rules for translating, as for interpreting (in Greek, ‘hermeneia’ included both meanings), cannot be laid down. In every case we are dealing with a living author who used grammar and syntax as a means, not as an end in itself. Like Humpty Dumpty in Alice in Wonderland, he was the master of his words -- though admittedly there may have been occasions on which the words mastered him and he did not clearly or fully express what was in his mind. The point at which to begin, however, is with the grammar and the syntax. For all New Testament writers (see Chapter IV) the sentence and its structure is more immediately comprehensible than are the meanings of words.

But the meanings of words are obviously of supreme importance. First we must determine what effect we wish our translation to give in relation to the meaning of a word. Is it to represent (1) what the word may have meant to the author or (2) what it may have meant to some, at least, of his earliest readers, or (3) what it may have come to mean in later times (the limiting case being a so-called ‘inspired mistranslation’)? Before we can go any farther we must recognize the ambiguities present in each of these cases. (1) An author may mean several different things by the same word, just as he may use different words to signify the same, or essentially the same, thing. He may use a word in different senses on different occasions, or he may use the word with two senses at the same time (John is fond of this practice). In the case of words which have a long history or, as in the Septuagint, have been used to translate various words in another language -- and thus bear diverse connotations -- we cannot always be sure which one out of several meanings is dominant in the author’s mind as he writes. (2) Similarly, when we speak of the author’s ‘earliest readers’ we must bear in mind (a) that we do not often know who his earliest readers were, and (b) that often (as at Corinth and Colossae, at least) the earliest readers consisted of at least two groups, both of which claimed to understand what he meant, though they disagreed as to what it was. Such misunderstanding is reflected in I Corinthians 5:9-13, and perhaps in the whole letter. The history of biblical interpretation, in large measure, is the story of disagreements as to the meaning of texts; and these disagreements arose very early. (3) If we speak of what words may have meant in later times, we must ask, ‘To whom?’ Goethe translated ‘logos’ by ‘die Tat’; is he to be taken as a reliable witness? By whom? Is ‘the church’ to be regarded as the ultimate court of appeal? If so, what is the church? Or does ‘logos’ in John 1:1 mean whatever anyone has happened to think it means?

It might appear that the possibility of translating does not really exist; and to some extent such is the case. There can never be an absolutely final translation of the New Testament, for (1) we do not know with mathematical precision what its authors meant or how their readers understood them, and (2) our own language changes from age to age and words acquire and lose meanings.

We should say something about what we do know about the Greek of the New Testament. Obviously it is not classical. What is it? Around the seventeenth century there were those who believed that it was a special language created by the Holy Spirit, but -- especially in the late nineteenth century -- this view lost favour when a great many letters, business documents and other writings were discovered, preserved in papyrus in the dry climate of the Egyptian desert. The language of these papyri was much the same as that found in the New Testament. Scholars therefore turned to them to find out the meaning of words, grammar and syntax in the Hellenistic period, and in the light of this knowledge to interpret the New Testament. On the other hand, it has proved impossible to pass directly from the papyri to New Testament exegesis, for two reasons. (1) The New Testament writers were saturated in the Greek Old Testament, the Septuagint, and much of their language bears Septuagintal overtones. Some New Testament terms can be understood much better in relation to the Septuagint than in relation to sales contracts. (2) Some of the gospels, and to a certain measure some of the epistles, come from or through men who were bilingual and seem to have thought in two languages at once. One language was Greek; the other was Aramaic or Hebrew. Even though none of the New Testament books was written in Aramaic, the authors of some of them thought in Aramaic, at least at times. And behind the sayings of Jesus in their Greek versions lies a chain of transmission which began in a Semitic language. Obviously this chain cannot be reproduced in a translation. But it has to be taken into account.

Thus far we have been discussing chiefly the problems presented by the materials being translated; but there are also difficulties in our own language and our use of it. The English language has undergone almost constant change since the year 1611, to go back no farther. Words have lost their original, or earlier, meanings and overtones and have acquired other overtones and meanings. Conspicuous examples of such changes can be found by reading Shakespeare, the King James Version, and the Book of Common Prayer -- in spite of the fact that alterations have been made in the last two. In a prayer-book collect God is still asked to ‘prevent’ us, when we are really asking him to lead; the so-called ‘comfortable words’ are really meant to be encouraging or strengthening. The English of today is also different, generally speaking, in style. King James’s translators were trained in a rhetoric rather alien to our own more pedestrian turns of phrase. Where they often favoured long words with Latin derivations we tend to prefer shorter Anglo-Saxon terms. These differences in vocabulary and style account for many of the variations between the older English versions and the more modern ones.

Sometimes it is suggested that these older translations, hallowed by usage, are the most satisfactory because their archaic language conveys overtones of the antiquity which is actually a feature of the Bible. Such an argument has been advanced by Augustine against Jerome’s novel translation of the Old Testament, and by modern opponents of such translations as the Revised Standard Version. There is, of course, something to it. The New Testament writers themselves did not hesitate to make free use of the Septuagint version of the Old Testament, written in a Greek at times very strange and, in their time, a century or so old. In addition, at least some of the New Testament writings were intended for liturgical use, and liturgical language emphasizes the continuity of Christianity by preserving archaic expressions -- which are sometimes, though not often, incomprehensible to later generations. Some of the New Testament writings, then, are archaizing in flavour and a purely ‘modern’ translation does not translate. On the other hand, the narrative portions of Acts and most of the Pauline epistles were written in a style which was not archaizing, and if they are translated archaistically the translation does not convey the authors’ intentions. This defence of modernizing, however, cannot be pressed too far, for translations have at least two purposes: (1) private reading for the sake of edification and/or instruction, and (2) liturgical reading. It is possible that a more modern translation may provide more adequate instruction while failing to achieve the goal desired in devotional contemplation or liturgy. At the same time, no ‘modern’ or ‘fresh’ translation is likely to remain either modern or fresh, and no archaizing translation can be allowed to remain too far in the past. Translation is a continuing task with a goal never finally attainable.

Then does the New Testament mean whatever anyone may suppose it to mean? Such a conclusion is not valid because, in spite of the severe limits we have tried to place upon ‘knowledge falsely so-called’, it is still possible to determine something about grammar, syntax, and the meanings of words in the context provided by the authors of the New Testament books.

This is to say that there is a relative objectivity in the translation of the New Testament; but there is not, and never will be, a translation which conveys the exact meaning, or range of meanings, found in every passage.

In addition, the presence of ambiguity in the New Testament documents themselves must be recognized. There are quite a few passages in which several translations, often with rather different meanings, are possible. (This fact is made clear especially in the footnotes to the New English Bible.) The possibility of ambiguity arises under various kinds of circumstances. First comes the ambiguity which is to be found in English but not in the original Greek. This situation need not be discussed; it is due to the inadequacy of translation, not to anything in the original text. More important is the ambiguity which actually may exist in Greek. Here the original author may have expressed himself unclearly because of inadequacies either in thought or in expression. The cause of the inadequacy is important. Is it due to the author himself or to the subject matter? If it is due to the author, the translator need do no more than reproduce the inadequacy. If it is due to the subject matter, which may transcend the author’s powers of thought or expression, the translator needs to choose words which can convey this impression. Writers who deal with the work of God in history cannot always write with the preciseness of an Aristotle discussing categories or the habits of animals. In translating unclear sentences in which the authors’ reach exceeds their grasp because of the ‘heavenly’ nature of the subject, we must try to let the ambiguity indicate the authors’ intentions

We must also avoid maintaining the notion that there is any one clearly definable key to all the mysteries of the Bible. Martin Luther once wrote these words about the Psalms: ‘God be thanked, when I understood the subject matter and knew that "God’s righteousness" meant ‘‘righteousness through which he justifies us through righteousness freely given in Jesus Christ", then I understood the grammar. Only then did I find the Psalter to my taste.’ Certainly justification through grace is a central concern of the New Testament and, to some measure, of the Old. But it is not the only concern, and we must not place New Testament words and thoughts on a Procrustean bed -- even Luther’s.