Audio interview on the reliability of Acts for Alisa Childers podcast:
Category Archives: Historical reliability questions
Historical Reliability of Acts–video interview (2 hours)
The following interview addresses the historical reliability of the Book of Acts:
Are Christian Scholars Apologists?
An apologia, or apology in the traditional sense, is a defense of something. Any scholar who proposes and defends a thesis (which is how most dissertations are written) does an apology in this sense. Monographs and articles typically advance and defend theses. (One reason that I enjoy writing commentaries is that they are less controversial!) So scholars are “apologists” in this general sense all the time.
Many today, however, limit the use of the terms “apologist” and “apologetics” to the traditional Christian approach of defending the faith. Thus, they apply it more narrowly to a defense of Christian faith or Christian premises. In this way, if Richard Dawkins attacks belief in God and implies that there is no such thing as a smart Christian, Christians who respond to him are called apologists. Both they and Dawkins defend a thesis, but the title “apologist” is given to them rather than to Richard Dawkins.
So long as people are using the title in the traditional Christian sense, this narrower designation is understandable. Christians who answer Dawkins are apologists for Christianity, and Dawkins is self-evidently not one. Christians who argue that Jesus is an actual historical figure are apologists in this sense, and Richard Carrier is not. Those who argue for the historical reliability of the first Gospels are apologists for that premise; those who treat those Gospels as novels or mythography are not.
And yet: one could argue for the existence of God, or for Jesus as an actual historical figure, or for the historical reliability of the Gospels, without being a Christian apologist or even a Christian. One would still be defending a thesis, as would someone denying any of these claims.
The major problem is that some use the titles “apologist” and “apologetics” as terms of derision with which to dismiss the work of those with whom they disagree. They mean, “Oh, of course they would say that. They’re defending their Christian belief.”
For the dismissal to work, one must take for granted, first of all, that defending Christian belief is illegitimate. What if the defender actually believes that what they are defending is true? And what if they happen to be correct? How can you know that they are incorrect if you have never looked at the evidence that they present? If you disagree a priori, you should be gracious enough to admit that the reason you disagree is because you disagree with their belief, rather than challenging their credibility as a scholar.
Some also use this dismissal to cover not merely professional apologists, but any scholar who sometimes argues for a thesis consistent with historic Christian premises. Thus if the senior scholar Craig Evans shows how archaeology comports with some biblical claim, or if I find external corroboration for some features in Acts, or if Richard Bauckham revives the possibility of a significant measure of originally eyewitness testimony behind the Gospels, some writers on the internet dismiss these claims (and often our entirely scholarly output) as “apologetic.” If someone argues the opposite on any of these points, the person is considered “objective.”
These charges are leveled regardless of the amount of argumentation or documentation marshalled. They are leveled regardless of where the work is published. If someone’s position is Christian, no amount of research can surmount the suspicion that it is biased—never mind that the antiapologist who levels such a charge does not apply the same suspicion to someone arguing against a Christian position. The dismisser does not take into account the possibility that we argue for these views, and genuinely hold them, because we believe that the evidence points to these positions. The average dismisser appears not to have even read our work; they circulate such reports secondhand based on how some others have used our work.
When used in this manner, the labels “apologist” and “apologetics” function like an ad hominem argument, like any other kind of name calling/deviance labeling. This is essentially a lazy way to dismiss the work of another person without having to engage it.
Of course, some publications merit dismissal, but normally not before perusing them to see if they contain worthy arguments! Also, scholars are not obligated to engage popular-level arguments (blog posts and the like; so why am I doing so? Notice that I am doing so only in a blog post …). In today’s world, scholarship would grind to a halt if scholars had to respond to everything that anyone says. Moreover, even in scholarly work itself, it is no longer possible (at least in most areas of New Testament) for scholars to engage every scholarly work; there are simply too many to keep up with. But lack of engagement is not the same as dismissal—unless the scholars in question go silent specifically on every work that disagrees with them.
Most scholars are sometimes “apologists” in the most general sense of defending a thesis. Many scholars exploring the historical origins of Christianity will sometimes pronounce in favor of something historical (the vast majority at least agree on basic matters, such as Jesus being a historical figure, being Jewish, being Galilean, etc.) Some scholars specialize in demonstrating particular historical claims, and these may coincide with Christian beliefs (which the scholars may hold at times because they find such claims persuasive). So nonapologists should not dismiss all “apologists” even in the narrower sense unless they start with a premise that what the apologist is arguing must be wrong.
Some apologists do argue a thesis or one side of an argument without considering alternatives. That is the sort of approach that good scholars warn our doctoral students against: you may propose a thesis for your dissertation topic, but be ready to adapt it as your research shows its weaknesses or even voids it. But I know some professional apologists who do adjust their views as they discover new information—what any scholar, indeed, any honest person, must be ready to do.
Only when scholars do not genuinely believe what they are arguing for (normally difficult to discern, though some novel proposals published in quest of tenure these days seem suspect) or when they argue poorly, use misinformation, or are exceptionally careless do their works warrant dismissal.
So let’s be honest. Most scholars, and most people in generally, defend viewpoints at times. Ideally, we should do so open-mindedly and always welcome new information that modifies our positions. But dismissing those who argue for a position simply because that position is a Christian one are a priori dismissing Christian belief. That may work in a blog post, but in honest intellectual inquiry they will have to do better than a priori dismissals.
Differences in the Gospels, part 3
There are, as noted in parts 1 and 2, differences among the Gospels. So, picking up where we left off last time:
Second and third examples:
In Luke 7:3-6, after a significant sermon by Jesus, local Judean elders and the centurion’s friends intercede for and deliver messages for him; he does not come directly to Jesus. In Matt 8:5-7, shortly after Jesus’s parallel sermon, the centurion comes directly to Jesus, with no intermediaries.
Likewise, Matt 9:18 omits messengers in Mark 5; whereas in Mark messengers inform Jairus of his daughter’s death after he has asked Jesus to heal her (Mark 5:23, 35), in Matthew this synagogue official simply announces his daughter’s death to Jesus directly.
These examples fit not only ancient biographic conventions, but ordinary discourse. When we recount events to someone who may not want to hear every detail, we streamline a story down to the most essential points that we want to convey. I think that’s what Matthew’s doing here. If you disagree, that’s fine; you may in fact have better explanations. I have no personal stake in any particular way of explaining the differences. In some cases we are just guessing; in others, as in these second and third examples, a pattern appears to suggest one sort of explanation as more probable than another.
But whatever explanation you might prefer, please don’t try to deny what’s in the text, in the name of honoring it. That’s imposing your beliefs on the Bible, rather than submitting to what is actually there. That is not respectful to the biblical text. And certainly don’t deny what’s in the text in front of you while claiming that you are upholding biblical authority! Someone who denies what is in front of them in the text is not upholding biblical authority; they are denying it.
So here is my advice to those who, in the name of defending Scripture, don’t want to acknowledge differences. (Not that I meet many people like that; maybe I am preaching here to what I was right after my conversion.)
If they don’t see differences, it’s fairly obvious that they have never worked their way through a synopsis of the Gospels. Maybe it’s time that instead of hammering others with their theological or philosophical assumptions, they read the actual biblical text closely.
And here is my advice to those who, for the sake of attacking Scripture, see such differences as significant contradictions. (Not that those who do so normally consult me for advice.)
Look: if Matthew and Luke made changes in Mark, that means that they knew what Mark said and made the changes anyway. You yourself probably recognize that their audiences had probably already heard Mark. They obviously did not see a problem with this. Simply repeating their sources verbatim was not what they were trying to do. (In fact, most ancient historians paraphrased and adapted the wording of their sources more than the Gospel writers do in cases like this.) So chill out and quit making issues out of things that you know very well that your fellow scholars who are Christians do not find a problem with—especially since the Gospel writers and other writers of their milieu didn’t see a problem with it. What you accuse them of failing to do is not what they claimed to be doing.
For those of us who respect Scripture, let’s respect it enough to embrace it the way God gave it to us. He did not give Christians a Qur’an, dictated by a single prophet. He did not give us oracular utterances dictated by the Delphic priestess and put into nice Greek by Apollo’s priests. He didn’t even limit us to a single Gospel so that new converts would immediately understand that Jesus got crucified just once. He gave it to us the way that he gave it to us, and it’s our job to welcome it and then, by his grace, do our best to figure it out.
Differences in the Gospels, part 2
There are differences among the Gospels. A Christian who wishes it to be otherwise might say, “I wish there was only one Gospel.” But God gave us four, and it is more respectful for us to hear them the way that God gave them to us, listening to the message of each on its own terms. That does not make their messages incompatible—just different (like, for example, my wife and me). By definition, they have to be at least somewhat different if we have four of them instead of four copies of the same Gospel.
There the matter might lay except that some people today have made a big issue out of the differences. Some popular speakers cognizant of some of the differences have used them to rhetorically terrorize (or at least scare the wits out of) many Christians who never read their Bibles enough to notice the differences to begin with. While some of us who have long seen these differences might be tempted to thank such speakers for pointing Christians to their Bibles, we wish that these Christians would have noticed these differences first in a friendlier setting. But scholars with high respect for Scripture now need to explain (and thus have the opportunity to explain) more about how Scripture is written, as well as its message.
Yes, there are differences
What is singularly unhelpful is when some Christians respond, “There are no differences there!” Again, had God wished us to have just one Gospel witness in the New Testament instead of four, he undoubtedly would have arranged for that. If the Gospels were precisely the same, they would not be different Gospels. While that observation is so simplistic that it should go without saying, responses vary in the degree of variation that the responders observe.
So what kinds of differences do we find? I shall offer in this series of posts only a very small number of samples. I am picking examples that are not very controversial, in hopes of pointing out to Christians who don’t read the Bible very much that there are in fact differences, and inviting them to respect the Bible that God gave us rather than one they wished he would have inspired differently.
I shall not spend much space addressing here those who think that such differences undermine Scripture (and sometimes use them to ridicule Christians) because I spend countless pages addressing those issues in my academic work. This blogsite is mostly for more popular level materials (since my publishers own my academic materials). (Still, I am borrowing these examples from a forthcoming book, because I really need most of my time to write the academic books, and it saves me time if I can borrow my own words from elsewhere.)
First example, the cursing of the fig tree:
Mark 11:12-25 | Matt 21:12-13, 18-22 |
1. Jesus curses the fruitless fig tree (11:14) | 2. Jesus challenges the temple (21:12-13) |
2. Jesus challenges the temple (11:15-17) | 1. Jesus curses the fruitless fig tree (21:19) |
3. The next day, the disciples find the fig tree withered (11:20) | 3. The fig tree withers at once (21:19) |
4. The disciples are surprised (11:21) | 4. The disciples are surprised (21:20) |
5. Jesus gives a lesson on faith (11:23-25) | 5. Jesus gives a lesson on faith (21:21-22) |
Did Jesus curse two fig trees over the course of two days, though each Evangelist mentions only one, with one withering at once and the other withering later but the disciples needing precisely the same lesson on faith, in very similar words, each time?
But guess what? Ancient readers didn’t expect ancient biographies to be in chronological order, and moving material around was considered a matter of arrangement, not of accuracy.
And ancient expectations are what we need to consider: it is simply anachronistic to judge documents by standards that didn’t exist in their day, or genres that didn’t exist in their day, even when modern genres evolved from ancient ones with the same names. To ignore genre and the expectations that a writer could take for granted that his readers shared is like ignoring the language or culture in which a work is written. We can’t speak of the “historical reliability” of parables or psalms. Readers in the early Roman empire expected history-writing and biography to be reliable in substance, but not to have anything like verbatim recall of wording.
So critics who condemn biblical texts for differences are reading them anachronistically. So are defenders who pretend the differences aren’t there, unwilling to actually look honestly at the texts they claim to respect!
A couple more brief examples and a conclusion should wrap up this discussion—next time.
Differences in the Gospels, part 1
I was converted from a non-Christian background, so I didn’t grow up hearing the Gospels. The first time I read through the Gospels as a new believer, I was shocked. Matthew was great, but then Jesus got crucified again at the end of Mark. “How often is this going to happen?” I wondered.
I was shocked because, having been told that the Bible is God’s Word, I assumed that this meant that God had dictated it in the first-person. You could insist on it being like that if you want, but if you do insist on that, everyone who has read it will know that you haven’t.
I didn’t understand the Christian perspective that God inspired Scripture through different human authors, who sometimes treated the same events. I had a wrong understanding of what inspiration meant, an understanding that needed to be adjusted by reading the actual biblical text.
Playing catch-up
Although most Christians do not misunderstand the nature of the Bible this severely, especially if they grew up taking the Bible’s character for granted, many do have misunderstandings. Yet the little kids in Sunday School knew the Bible better than I did, so I had to work to catch up. I had always craved knowledge, but now, believing that the Bible was God’s Word, I began craving understanding of Scripture that could only be satisfied by immersing myself in it.
Reading forty chapters of the Bible a day, and so through the New Testament once a week (or the Bible once a month), was very helpful to me. After a number of weeks I had a good overview of the New Testament. I understood much better how it fit together as a series of different works and letters, and began to hear what passages meant in their context.
Sometimes preachers quote verses faster than one can look them up in context. I wanted to know the Bible, or at least the New Testament, well enough that if someone quoted a verse, I would immediately know the full context. Of course, some verses sound a lot alike, such as many passages in the Gospels that treat the same events. I wanted to know those passages so well that I could, after hearing a single verse, know which of the Gospels it came from, and therefore know its context. (Admittedly, sometimes the best I can do is just mention the several passages that sound alike.)
Examining differences
After I had been a Christian for about seven years I finished my first degree in biblical studies. At that time I decided to work my way through a synopsis of the Gospels, passage by passage, to see if there were any patterns in the differences in wording. I found that the wording was often less close to verbatim than I had expected, although the Gospel writers were often recounting the same events. I also noticed that they often told accounts in a different sequence.
Because I was eager to submit to the Bible itself, whatever I found there, more than any presupposed theology about the way God should have inspired it, I simply adjusted my understanding of inspiration to fit what I found there. I want to submit to whatever God’s Word says, not impose a philosophic or theological straitjacket on it. That was because I believed that the Bible, rather than any inherited theology about the Bible, should direct our beliefs.
I was excited about what I was discovering and contemplated making it a major emphasis in my teaching. As I weighed the needs of the church, though, I decided that these observations were not that important compared to crucial biblical themes that the church needed. One can mention such observations in passing, but churches need to hear the message of the text. Literary-theological approaches, served by ancient background, help us get at that message better than simply observing the mechanics of how writers wrote.
Why the differences?
Of course, I took such observations for granted in my academic work; those who know the biblical text well and revel in discussing it dialogue about such observations. In detailed commentaries, where we have good reason to believe that one source adapted another in some respects we naturally ask, “Why? What was the purpose of this adaptation?”
Sometimes it was to condense narratives: thus Matthew omits the paralytic being let down through the roof, though he tells the more theologically crucial part of the story. (Unless we suppose that Matthew omitted it to protest the destruction of private property!) Sometimes it was to contextualize; many scholars think that Luke envisions an Aegean-style roof different from the more common Galilean-style roof maybe presupposed by Mark (Mark 2:4; Luke 5:19). More certainly and obviously, compare Matthew’s usual “kingdom of heaven” with Mark’s “kingdom of God,” especially in parallel passages.
Sometimes it was for greater precision of wording; Matthew and Luke recognize Herod Antipas as more precisely labeled a tetrarch (Matt 14:1; Luke 3:19; 9:7; Acts 13:1) than a king (Mark 6:14, 22).
Quite often it was for style: trying to raise the level of Greek, Luke removes most of Mark’s historical presents.
Still, in what is probably a majority of cases, except where we find a pattern, one scholar’s guess is as good as another’s. Maybe it was for style. Maybe it was to abbreviate. Maybe it was to provide a few more vivid details the author heard elsewhere. Maybe one author adapted some wording to bring out a different emphasis. Sometimes these observations help us preach a particular Gospel’s message more faithfully, but often we just scratch our heads. (Maybe that is why I am going bald.)
Such differences are common whenever we compare different accounts of events, whether directly from eyewitnesses or from those who knew them. You can probably notice this pattern even in conversations in our daily lives, once you start taking note of it.
So what’s the big deal? Tune in next time for part 2.
The Jesus of history versus the Christ of faith?
New Testament scholars sometimes contrast the Jesus of history versus the Christ of faith. Not everyone means the same thing by this contrast. Christian scholars, for example, usually recognize that what we can know about Jesus by conventional historical methods is limited; it is therefore less important than how we worship him by faith. We know enough historically to believe him worthy of our trust, and so we embrace the rest of his message because we trust him and his faithfulness in commissioning the right agents (especially the first apostles) to give us their testimony about him.
But sometimes scholars value the historical Jesus that they reconstruct in opposition to, and as more real than, the Christ of faith. Jesus’s early followers would likely have seen this as a problem.
Consider 1 John 4:2-3:
By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, and every spirit that does not confess Jesus is not from God. And this is the spirit of the antichrist, of which you have heard that it is coming; and now it is already in the world. (NRSV)
Or 2 John 7:
Many deceivers have gone out into the world, those who do not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh; any such person is the deceiver and the antichrist! (NRSV)
According to this apostolic witness, the Jesus who came in history is the Jesus who rose from the dead and now sits exalted at God’s right hand. The Jesus who came in the flesh is not different from our faith; he is the very one who matters for our faith.
Responding to Weeden’s critique of Bailey’s Middle Eastern background for oral tradition
Kenneth Bailey contended for a model of oral tradition behind the Gospels based on Middle Eastern practices of passing on tradition. James D. G. Dunn, N. T. Wright and others developed his basic model. Theodore Weeden, however, severely critiqued the model, noting some significant problems in Bailey’s data. Some scholars, such as Eric Eve at Oxford, have taken a nuanced view, acknowledging some of Bailey’s weaknesses but showing from other scholarly work that Bailey’s proposal resembles what studies of oral history also suggest.
In this new article in Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism, I respond to Weeden’s critique of Bailey. Although some of his observations are correct, Bailey’s model still has a great deal to offer, and Eve (and Dunn, Wright and others) have been right to point this out. (I should note: although most of my posts on this site are at a more popular level, this one is more academic.)
http://jgrchj.net/volume13/?page=volume13
(Note for those later finding this post in my archives: after the print version of the journal comes out, perhaps in late summer or fall of 2018, their web version will come down.)
Indonesian lectures on miracles, 2.2
21 minutes, including English and Indonesian translation
Indonesian lecture on miracles, 2.1-ancient parallels?
21 minutes, in English and Indonesian