Conclusion
2
The Origins of Canon
Was There Really Nothing in Early Christianity That May Have Led to a Canon?
The idea of a Christian faith governed by Christian written holy scriptures was not an essential part of the foundation plan of Christianity.
JAMES BARR
Holy Scripture: Canon, Authority and Criticism
As noted in the introduction, the essential thrust of the extrinsic model of canon is that the canon was something developed by the later Christian church and subsequently imposed on writings written for another purpose. It is an ecclesiastical creation. If so, then it is no surprise that the second major tenet of this model is that there was nothing in early Christianity that would have naturally led to the development of a canon. The idea of a new set of scriptural books, we are told, did not arise from within the earliest stages of the Christian faith. Christians in the first century had no reason to think about such things. It was not in their DNA. Harry Gamble reflects this sentiment: “There is no intimation at all that the early church entertained the idea of Christian scriptures. . . . Therefore, the NT as we think of it was utterly remote from the minds of the first generation of Christian believers.” Likewise, C. F. Evans suggests that the earliest Christians “could hardly have conceived . . . the creation of a further Bible to go along with that already in existence.” Such a thought of new scriptural books, argues Morton Enslin, would have “scandalized” the first generation of believers. James Barr is most direct: “Jesus in his teaching is nowhere portrayed as commanding or even sanctioning the production of . . . a written New Testament. He never even casually told his disciples to write anything down.”
Now, there are aspects of these observations that are certainly correct. In the Gospel accounts, Jesus never told his disciples to write anything down. We have no passage in the New Testament that explicitly states that Christians should produce a New Testament. And certainly the earliest Christians did not have in mind the full twenty-seven-book shape of the future canon. But, even if these things are true, does that necessarily mean that “nothing dictated that there should be a NT”? Was there really nothing about earliest Christianity that might have given rise to a new corpus of sacred books? We shall argue here that the earliest Christians held a number of theological beliefs that would have naturally led to the development of a new canon of Scripture. In other words, we shall argue that the theological matrix of first-century Christianity created a favorable environment for the growth of a new written revelational deposit. This, of course, does not mean that these theological beliefs were, in fact, true. That is a separate question (and one we are not dealing with here). Our primary concern is whether there are good historical reasons for thinking Christians held these beliefs, and whether these beliefs might have naturally led to the development of a new canon.
The Eschatological Nature of Early Christianity
The Jews of the Second Temple period were not a settled group. Despite having returned to their promised land, they still conceived of themselves as in “exile”—they were still oppressed by foreign rulers (Bar 2:7-10; 2 Macc 2:5-18; 4Q504 2–5; T. Mos. 4:8-9). Thus, Israel was in a posture of anticipation and longing; they were waiting for God to fulfill his promises to break into the world and redeem his people (for example, Is 49:6; 52:8; Zech 14:9; Amos 9:11-15). This new kingdom era was described in a number of Old Testament texts as a time that would be filled with forgiveness and reconciliation (for example, Is 40:1-11; 52:13–53:12; Jer 31:31-40; Ezek 36:24-28; Zeph 3:14-20). After all, forgiveness is what Israel needed most—it was still in “exile” due to its own sin and rebellion. Not only is this heightened expectation of a new redemptive kingdom evident in a number of Second Temple texts (Tob 14:5-7; Bar 3:6-8; 4:36-37; T. Mos. 10:1-10; 2 Macc 1:27-29, 2:18; Wis 3:7; 1QSb 5.23-29; 1QHa 14.7-9), but a number of New Testament texts show these same expectations of a new kingdom—people were looking for the Messiah (Jn 1:41; 4:25) who would bring the “redemption of Jerusalem” (Lk 2:38), “the consolation of Israel” (Lk 2:25), and would “restore the kingdom to Israel” (Acts 1:6).
Another way to articulate Second Temple expectations of a future divine inbreaking is to say that the Jews of this period viewed the story of the Old Testament books as incomplete. When the Old Testament story of Israel was viewed as a whole, it was not viewed as something that was finished but as something that was waiting to be finished. N. T. Wright observes, “The great story of the Hebrew scriptures was therefore inevitably read in the Second Temple period as a story in search of a conclusion.” Indeed, some scholars have argued that the Old Testament canon ended with Chronicles as a reminder to the reader that Israel’s return from exile documented in Ezra–Nehemiah is not the full story—it is only a physical return, not a spiritual one. The hearts of the people still needed to be changed. Such an ending places the reader in a posture of eschatological expectation, looking ahead to the time when the Messiah, the son of David, will come to Jerusalem and bring full deliverance to his people. The Davidic focus of Chronicles is also borne out by its extensive genealogies with David at the very center (1 Chron 3:1-24).
With this Second Temple Jewish context in mind, we are now in a position to understand the eschatological nature of early Christianity. When we speak of early Christianity as “eschatological” we are not speaking here simply of the Christian belief that Jesus would one day return to judge the world; rather, we are speaking of the belief that, in some sense, Israel’s long-awaited eschatological redemption had occurred in the person and work of Jesus of Nazareth. Through Jesus, forgiveness of sins was now possible, and Israel’s “exile” could come to an end. The kingdom of God had arrived. For early Christians, “Israel’s history has reached its climax.” Of course, our earliest Christian writings indicate that this was Jesus’ own understanding of his mission. The eschatological nature of Jesus’ message is evident in his early preaching: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand” (Mk 1:15), and in his declarations that these Old Testament promises were fulfilled in his coming (Lk 4:16-30; compare Is 61:1-2). Other early Christian writers agree. Paul indicated that in Christ “the end of the ages has come” (1 Cor 10:11) and the time of “the promised Spirit” (Gal 3:14; compare Is 44:3) has arrived, and the writer to the Hebrews understood that “in these last days [God] has spoken to us by his Son” (Heb 1:2). Moreover, Jesus is often described as the second Moses who is bringing about a new “exodus.” He recapitulates the original exodus (Mt 2:14-15; Hos 11:1), begins his ministry in the desert (Mt 3:1-7; Is 40:3), presents himself as a new lawgiver on the mountaintop (Mt 5:1), is a great prophet like Moses (Lk 24:19; Acts 3:22-23), provides the true manna from heaven (Jn 6:32), and even directly speaks of his ἔξοδος with Moses at the transfiguration (Lk 9:31).
How do such eschatological beliefs about Jesus fulfilling the Old Testament promises to Israel affect the development of a new canon of Scripture? Three considerations are worth noting. First, the fact that Second Temple Jews regarded the Old Testament story as incomplete and in need of a proper conclusion has significant implications for the production of a new corpus of biblical books. If some Second Temple Jews became convinced that the story was completed in the life and ministry of Jesus of Nazareth—such as the earliest Christians did—then it is not unreasonable to think that the proper conclusion to the Old Testament might then be written. Indeed, the very structure of the Old Testament itself, with its truncated and forward-looking ending, naturally leads to the expectation that there would be a second installment of writings to finish the job. Otherwise, one would be left with a play that had no final act. This possibility finds confirmation in the fact that some of the New Testament writings seem to be intentionally completing the Old Testament story. It is noteworthy that the first book of the New Testament begins with a genealogy with a strong Davidic theme (Mt 1:1), and the (likely) last book of the Hebrew canon begins with a genealogy that has a strong Davidic theme (1 Chron 1–2). This structural feature led D. Moody Smith to declare, “In doing so, Matthew makes clear that Jesus represents the restoration of that dynasty and therefore the history of Israel and the history of salvation. Thus, Jesus continues the biblical narrative.” W. D. Davies and Dale Allison agree that Matthew “thought of his gospel as a continuation of the biblical history.”
Second, the Old Testament writings themselves—from which the earliest Christians have drawn these promises—indicate that God often brings new Word-revelation after he acts to redeem his people. In other words, the story of Israel indicates that there is a tight connection between God’s major redemptive acts and God’s new installments of revelation. When God breaks into the world to redeem, he typically follows that redemption with a new revelation that interprets those redemptive acts. Richard Lints observes, “For whatever reasons, God has chosen to bring redemption to his people in a progressive and epochal manner. This being the case, it should come as no surprise that the revelation of God’s redemptive activity also has an epochal structure, manifested and marked in the canonical Scriptures.” Richard Gaffin argues the same point: “Revelation never stands by itself, but is always concerned either explicitly or implicitly with redemptive accomplishment. . . . It is not going too far to say that redemption is the raison d’être of revelation.” This historical connection between redemption and revelation is particularly evident in the exodus event, arguably the archetypal redemptive event of the story of Israel. It was after God redeemed his people from Egypt that he delivered a written covenantal word to them (Ex 20:2).
Given this redemption-revelation pattern in God’s prior dealings with Israel, it is not difficult to see why early Christians might have naturally expected to be given a new revelational deposit. After all, they believed that the redemption brought through Jesus of Nazareth was not just one of many redemptive installments, but the final and ultimate redemption for Israel (Heb 1:2). Early Christians believed that Jesus was not another prophet, but the prophet (Jn 7:52); not just a giver of the law, but the embodiment of the law (Jn 1:1); not just a king like David, but the king of David (Lk 20:44); not just one who worships at the temple, but one greater than the temple (Mt 12:6). If a covenantal revelation had been given at Israel’s first exodus, then it is difficult to imagine that early Christians would not have naturally anticipated a new covenantal revelation for Israel’s eschatological exodus in Christ. We can agree with David Meade that “[a] ‘New Israel’ . . . will require new Scriptures.”
François Bovon observes this same redemption-revelation pattern within the structure of the New Testament itself—but instead uses the terms event and proclamation. He argues that the New Testament has a twofold structure of gospel and apostle precisely for this reason: the former describes the redemptive event and the latter describes the official proclamation of that event. This gospel-apostle, or event-proclamation, pattern is clearly visible in the earliest Christian sources—from Paul, to the Synoptics, to the Johannine writings, to Acts, and, of course, the apostolic fathers. Barrett even argues that the two volume Luke–Acts was the very first embodiment of this gospel-apostle phenomenon and thus could be regarded as “The First New Testament.” All of these factors lead Bovon to argue that the existence of a New Testament is not due to the influence of “outside sources” but is “inscribed in the very nature of the Christian faith.” In other words, it is not extrinsic but intrinsic. He sums it up well: “A ‘New Testament’ containing Gospels and Epistles is the logical outgrowth and materialization of . . . an event and the proclamation that follows.”
Third, when the Old Testament refers to the future eschatological age of redemption, it explicitly states that this new era will be accompanied by a new divine message. If so, then once the earliest Christians believed this new age of redemption had arrived, we should not be surprised that a new revelational deposit might emerge. Such a reality stands in opposition to Harnack’s claim that early Christians would have desired (or expected) nothing beyond the revelation already found in the Old Testament (interpreted in a Christian fashion). A number of passages speak to this new divine message, but we can only mention a select few here:
1. In Deuteronomy 18:18, Moses cites the promise of God that another prophet like him will arise: “I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their brothers. And I will put my words in his mouth, and he shall speak to them all that I command them.” A number of New Testament texts make it clear that early Christians believed Deuteronomy 18:18 was fulfilled in the ministry of Jesus Christ: Mark 9:7; John 6:14; 7:40; Acts 3:23-24; 7:37.
2. Similarly, Isaiah 11:1 describes the coming Messiah as “a shoot from the stump of Jesse” who “will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth” (11:4). This is a clear allusion to the fact that the Messiah will speak the Word of God and that this new Word-revelation will be the basis by which he judges the earth. This passage is echoed in a number of New Testament texts that refer to the Messiah’s divine speaking (2 Thess 2:8; Rev 1:16; 11:5; 19:15).
3. Isaiah 61:1-2 (LXX) describes the activity of God’s servant in the coming eschatological age of salvation: “The Spirit of the LORD GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me to bring good news (εὐαγγελίσασθαι) to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim (κηρύξαι) liberty to the captives . . . to proclaim (καλέσαι) the year of the LORD’s favor.” The frequent occurrence of verbs of proclamation (εὐαγγελίσασθαι, κηρύξαι, καλέσαι) makes it clear that the era of the Messiah would be an era in which a new message of “good news” is announced. In other words, the coming kingdom of God would not just be accompanied by redemptive acts from God, but also by a redemptive message from God. Of course, Isaiah 61:1-2 is echoed in a number of New Testament texts (Lk 7:22-23; Mt 11:5; Acts 10:36-37), but Jesus explicitly cites it and applies it to his own ministry (Lk 4:18-19), showing that he viewed his own role as the servant-prophet who would initially deliver this new divine message (though others would also participate in its deliverance). Given that Isaiah 61:1-2 (compare Is 40:9, 52:7; Rom 10:15) refers to the message of “good news” with the verb εὐαγγελίσασθαι, it is not surprising that the written accounts of Jesus’ life were eventually known by the term εὐαγγέλιον.
4. Isaiah 2:2-3 speaks also of the coming age of salvation, “It shall come to pass in the latter days, that the mountain of the house of the LORD shall be established . . . all the nations shall flow to it . . . out of Zion shall go the law, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.” In this passage there is yet another clear expression that a new “word of the LORD” will go to the “the nations” in the future messianic age. This passage was interpreted by early Christians as referring to the apostolic mission to take the “word of the Lord” to the ends of the earth. In fact, Pao argues that Isaiah 2 is paradigmatic for the entire book of Acts, which traces the continued expansion of the “word of the Lord.” Likewise, Pahl argues that this passage may have been “a significant part of the background of [Paul’s] agenda,” given how much Paul uses “word of God/Lord” terminology (for example, 1 Cor 14:36; 2 Cor 2:17; 4:2; 1 Thess 1:8; 2:13). In addition, Isaiah 2 is likely one of the passages Jesus alludes to in Luke 24:46-47: “It is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed (κηρυχθῆναι) in his name to all nations.”
In sum, the eschatological nature of early Christianity provides an essential foundation on which the new canon of Scripture would be constructed. Not only was there an Old Testament pattern of new Word-revelation following God’s redemptive acts, and not only was the Old Testament story viewed as incomplete and anticipating a final installment, but the above passages indicate that the Old Testament expressly predicted that the messianic age would be marked by a new revelational message from God—and the earliest Christians applied these very passages to their own time period. With all these factors combined, there appear to be ample reasons to think that a new revelational deposit might have emerged naturally/intrinsically from within the early Christian movement rather than being foisted upon it by later ecclesiastical pressures.
The Concept of Covenant in Early Christianity
Speaking of the first century, N. T. Wright has observed that “Covenant theology was the air breathed by the Judaism of this period.” Indeed, Israel continued to understand its relationship with God through the lens of the covenantal arrangement established by God in a variety of Old Testament passages (for example, Gen 12:1-3; 15:18; 17:2; Ex 34:28; Deut 27–30; Is 55:3). So central was Israel’s covenantal identity that covenantal language is evident in a wide variety of Jewish literature, especially at Qumran. As Geza Vermes noted, “It was this same Covenant theology that served as the Qumran Community’s basic beliefs.” Thus, Israel interpreted its continued bondage to foreign powers as a distinctly covenantal crisis (would God be faithful to his covenantal promises?), which led the Jews to anticipate God’s covenantal deliverance even more strongly. It should come as little surprise that Second Temple Judaism framed its identity around the covenant, given the degree to which the covenantal concept dominates the entire Old Testament corpus. John Walton has observed that the covenant is “the single most important theological structure in the Old Testament.” Likewise, Walter Eichrodt has argued that covenant is not just one theme (of many) in the Old Testament but the very thing that provides its “structural unity.”
Given that the earliest Christians were distinctively Jewish in their heritage, they naturally understood the activity of Jesus and the inaugurated kingdom of God through the category of God’s covenantal promises. The Last Supper was interpreted as a covenantal meal as Jesus declared, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood” (Lk 22:20; compare Mt 26:28; Mk 14:24)—a vivid echo of Jeremiah 31:31. John’s father Zechariah recognized that through the coming work of Christ, God will “remember his holy covenant” to Israel (Lk 1:72). Paul not only interpreted the Lord’s Supper as a new covenant meal (1 Cor 11:25), but also interpreted the ministry of Christ as the fulfillment of the promises to Israel in Isaiah 59:21 where God declares, “This is my covenant with them” (Rom 11:27). In addition, Paul refers to himself and the other apostles as “ministers of a new covenant” (2 Cor 3:6), in contrast to the ministry of the “old covenant” (2 Cor 3:14). And the writer of Hebrews refers to Jesus as the “guarantor of a better covenant” (Heb 7:22), the one who establishes a “new covenant” with the house of Israel (Heb 8:8; compare 10:16; 12:24), and describes believers as those who participate in the “blood of the covenant” (Heb 10:29). Moreover, Christian interest in the covenant continued into the writings of the apostolic fathers and other patristic writers.
If, as we have just seen, early Christianity was distinctively covenantal in its orientation, then what impact does this have on the development of the canon? The answer lies in the very close connection between covenants and written texts. Scholars have long observed that the concept of a treaty-covenant was not unique to the Old Testament, but was prevalent in the ancient Near Eastern world out of which this corpus of books was born. The structure of these ancient treaty-covenants are well known and include a variety of components such as a preamble, historical prologue, stipulations, and blessings and curses. In addition, and most noteworthy for our purposes here, these treaty-covenants (especially Hittite ones) included written texts that documented the terms of the covenant arrangement. A suzerain king and his vassal king each received a written copy of the treaty-covenant, and provisions were made to have these texts stored in their holy shrines and read publicly at regular intervals. For this reason, these ancient treaty-covenants often included an “inscriptional curse” warning that the text was not to be altered in any way. For example, Kline notes that the Hittite treaty of Tudhaliyas IV and Ulmi-Teshub states, “Whoever . . . changes but one word of this tablet . . . may the thousand gods of this tablet root that man’s descendants out of the land of Hatti.”
It is now well-established by scholars that the structure of the Mosaic covenant—particularly Deuteronomy and the Decalogue—reflects the structure of these extrabiblical treaty-covenants. When Yahweh (in the role of the suzerain king) established his treaty-covenant with Israel (in the role of the vassal), he also gave these authoritative written texts to Israel to document the terms of that covenantal arrangement. For this reason, provisions were made to have these texts stored in the tabernacle, particularly the ark (Ex 25:16; Deut 10:2; 31:9; Josh 24:26), they were to be publicly read on a periodic basis (Deut 31:10-13), and even an “inscriptional curse” was attached to them: “You shall not add to the word that I command you, nor take from it, that you may keep the commandments of the LORD your God” (Deut 4:2). Thus, the very idea of an Old Testament canon has its roots in the covenant God made with Israel—the canon is a treaty document. Kline puts it this way: “The very treaty that formally established the Israelite theocracy was itself the beginning and the nucleus of the total cluster of writings which constitutes the Old Testament canon.” All of this indicates that the religious system of Israel understood there to be a tight connection between the giving of covenants and the production of canonical texts. Just as extrabiblical treaty-covenants of this kind had written documentation, so Yahweh’s biblical treaty-covenant with Israel had written documentation. As Hillers has observed, when it comes to biblical covenants between God and Israel, “there is a written document in connection with it, the familiar ‘text of the covenant.’”
Indeed, so close is the relationship between the covenant and the written documentation of the covenant that Old Testament authors would frequently equate the two—the covenant, in one sense, is a written text. For instance: “Then he took the Book of the Covenant and read it” (Ex 24:7; compare 1 Macc 1:57); “And he read in their hearing all the words of the Book of the Covenant” (2 Kings 23:2; compare 2 Chron 34:30); “He declared to you his covenant . . . that is, the Ten Commandments, and he wrote them on two tablets” (Deut 4:13); “He wrote on the tablets the words of the covenant” (Ex 34:28); and “The covenant written in this Book” (Deut 29:21). These passages indicate that covenants were largely conceived as something written or read; that is, something in a book. It is precisely for this reason that warnings were given not to change the text of the covenant (Deut 4:2), and there were concerns about it being in the proper physical location (Ex 25:16). Mendenhall recognizes this reality: “To put it in the simplest terms, the treaty was a sacred act and object.”
We are now in a position to recognize the implications of this Old Testament pattern on the development of a new corpus of books. The earliest Christians were themselves immersed in the covenantal structure of the Old Testament and thus would have understood this critical connection between covenants and written texts. Of course, these similarities do not require early Christians to be directly aware of ancient Near Eastern/Hittite treaty structure; they were aware of this structure inasmuch as it was manifested in the Old Testament itself. As Kline observes, “These [NT] writers were well acquainted with the secular treaty structure in its embodiment in the Old Testament. However ignorant they were of the formal origins of the covenantal structure, they were fully familiar with the treaty form itself as they found it in their Scriptures.” Thus, if they believed that through Jesus Christ a new covenant had been inaugurated with Israel (Jer 31:31), it would have been entirely natural for them to expect new written documents to testify to the terms of that covenant.
In other words, this Old Testament covenantal background provides strong historical reason for thinking that early Christians would have had a predisposition toward written canonical documents and that such documents might have arisen naturally from the early Christian movement. At a minimum, the covenantal context of early Christianity suggests that the emergence of a new corpus of scriptural books, after the announcement of a new covenant, could not be regarded as entirely unexpected. Even Harnack, despite his proclivity toward the extrinsic model of canon, acknowledges the role played by the concept of covenant: “The conception of the ‘New Covenant’ necessarily suggested the need of something of the nature of a document; for what is a covenant without its document?”
Our suspicions are confirmed when we examine the New Testament corpus in more detail and recognize that it too bears some of the characteristics of the ancient treaty-covenants:
1. The New Testament has its own “inscriptional curse” in Revelation 22:18-19: “I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to him the plagues described in this book, and if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book.” While this no doubt applies most immediately to the book of Revelation itself, it is fitting that it comes at the very end of the entire New Testament corpus.
2. The New Testament has its own declarations that it should be read publicly. A number of Paul’s epistles include commands that they be read at the gathering of the church (2 Cor 10:9; Col 4:16; 1 Thess 5:27). Likewise, the book of Revelation also anticipates that it will be read publicly when it pronounces a blessing on “the one who reads the words of this prophecy and . . . those who hear” (1:3). Some scholars have suggested that the Gospels of Matthew and Mark were written with a liturgical structure that implied they were used for year-round public reading in worship, although other scholars have disputed this claim.
3. The New Testament writings seem to perform the same covenantal functions as their Old Testament counterparts. Kline argues, for instance, that the canonical Gospels parallel the historical narratives of the Pentateuch, each functioning as the “historical prologue” where the great salvific acts of God are recited. Vogels argues that the book of Acts fills the same canonical function as the Old Testament Historical Books, since they both highlight the time the covenant people enter into new lands immediately after the death of the covenant mediator (Josh 1:2; Acts 1:8). The New Testament Epistles fulfill a similar function as the Old Testament Prophetic Books in that they are designed to apply and uphold the terms of the covenant laid forth in the prior historical accounts and also function as “covenant lawsuits” when the people of God reject the stipulations of the covenant and pursue false gods. It is for these reasons that Christopher Seitz is able to declare, “In its formal and material givenness, the Law and the Prophets pattern has influenced the formal and material development of the NT canon.”
4. As Paul rehearses the pattern of Old Testament covenant-making in the book of Galatians, he reminds his readers of the general principle (echoing the inscriptional curse of Deut 4:2) that when it comes to covenants, “no one annuls it or adds to it once it has been ratified” (Gal 3:15). Therefore, for Paul—and no doubt for early Christians influenced by Paul or who shared Paul’s Jewish background—covenants not only had written documents, but those documents were not to be altered. We see this same principle again in 2 Corinthians 3:14 when Paul refers to the Jews who “read the old covenant.” Jensen notes that this is further evidence that Paul viewed covenants as having written texts: “For Paul, what you did with the old covenant was read it.” If so, then the fact that Paul juxtaposes this “old covenant” with the “new covenant” in the same context (2 Cor 3:6) suggests the possibility that the latter may also have written texts. As Jean Carmignac argues, “In order to use the expression ‘Old Testament’ he [Paul] must also be aware of the existence of a ‘New Testament.’” The likelihood of this possibility increases when we make the simple observation that Paul claims for himself and the other apostles a distinctive covenantal authority—as “ministers of the new covenant” (διακόνους καινῆς διαθήκης)—and makes this claim within a written letter to the Corinthians. If this letter functioned as a “covenant lawsuit” against the Corinthians, as some have argued, then one could hardly fault them if they regarded the letter itself as bearing some sort of covenantal authority.
5. The fact that the new corpus of Christian Scripture eventually was called the “New Testament” or “new covenant” is indicative of the close relationship between the concepts of “covenant” and “canon.” Early patristic writers often used the term διαθήκη (“covenant”) to refer to canonical writings. Melito of Sardis (ca. 180) appears to echo the language of Paul in 2 Corinthians 3:14 when he refers to τῆς παλαιᾶς διαθήκης βιβλία (“the books of the Old Covenant”). Such language shows again that early Christians viewed covenants as entities that are manifested in written documents (“books”). Moreover, if Melito is able to refer to an old covenant of books, this suggests the possibility that he has in mind a corresponding new covenant of books. Also at the end of the second century, an anonymous anti-Montanist writer refers to the church’s canonical books as τῷ τῆς τοῦ εὐαγγλίου καινῆς διαθήκης λόγῳ (“the word of the new covenant of the gospel”), erasing any doubts about whether the concepts of “canon” and “covenant” were closely linked in the minds of early Christians. In fact, this author even applies an “inscriptional curse” to these new covenant writings when he says that they are writings “to which no one . . . can add and from which he cannot take away.” This clear echo of Deuteronomy 4:2 and Revelation 22:18-19 suggests not only that this writer views these new books as covenantal documents, but that this corpus of books cannot be changed or modified—they are fixed.
It is interesting to note that Tertullian often translates the term διαθήκη with the Latin instrumentum (and sometimes testamentum), which were used in the Roman world to refer to written legal documents. At one point he rejects the canonicity of the Shepherd and says it does not deserve a place in the divino instrumento (“the divine canon”)—a clear reference to a new corpus of books. Thus, by the time of Clement of Alexandria, the phrase new covenant was fully established as the official title of the church’s canon. Ferguson observes that for Clement, “‘Covenant’ meant or referred to written documents.” Likewise, for Origen, Campenhausen argues that “diatheke in the sense of ‘book’ was a perfectly normal usage.” In fact, Origen used the word ἐνδιαθήκους—an obvious derivative of διαθήκη—to refer to the books that he regarded as “canonical.”
When all these factors are taken into account, it is not only clear that the early Christian movement was distinctively covenantal in its orientation, but that it would have shared the close connection between covenants and written texts so evident in the Old Testament/Jewish background out of which it was born. If so, then the emergence of a new corpus of covenantal books would not have been something entirely unexpected.
The Role of the Apostles in Early Christianity
In addition to eschatological and covenantal beliefs, early Christians also had beliefs about the role and authority of the apostles that would have impacted the development of a new corpus of scriptural books. Our earliest Christian writings portray the apostles as having the very authority of Christ himself. Jesus had commissioned his apostles “so that they might be with him and he might send them out to preach and have authority” (Mk 3:14-15). When Jesus sent out the Twelve, he reminds them that “it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you” (Mt 10:20). Thus, he is able to give a warning to those who reject the apostles’ authority: “If anyone will not receive you or listen to your words, . . . it will be more bearable on the day of judgment for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah than for that town” (Mt 10:14). Likewise, John’s Gospel describes Jesus’ special promise to the apostles: “The Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you” (Jn 14:26). In addition, Jesus indicates in his prayer to the Father that “I have given them [the apostles] the words that you gave me. . . . As you sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world” (Jn 17:8, 18). This same theme is picked up in the book of Acts as Peter testifies to the fact that the apostles were “chosen by God as witnesses . . . to preach to the people and to testify that [Christ] is the one appointed by God to be judge of the living and the dead” (Acts 10:41-42). Also, the book of 2 Peter makes it clear that the words of the apostles are the words of Jesus and are on par with the authority given to the Old Testament prophets: “You should remember the predictions of the holy prophets and the commandment of the Lord and Savior through your apostles” (2 Pet 3:2).
Early patristic writings indicate that this same conviction about the authority of the apostles was foundational for the early church. The book of 1 Clement not only encourages its readers to “Take up the epistle of that blessed apostle, Paul,” but also offers a clear reason why: “The Apostles received the Gospel for us from the Lord Jesus Christ, Jesus the Christ was sent from God. The Christ therefore is from God and the Apostles from the Christ.” In addition, the letter refers to the apostles as “the greatest and most righteous pillars of the Church.” Ignatius, bishop of Antioch, also recognizes the unique role of the apostles as the mouthpiece of Christ: “The Lord did nothing apart from the Father . . . neither on his own nor through the apostles.” Here Ignatius indicates that the apostles were a distinct historical group and the agents through which Christ worked. Thus, Ignatius goes out of his way to distinguish his own authority as a bishop from the authority of the apostles: “I am not enjoining [commanding] you as Peter and Paul did. They were apostles, I am condemned.”
Justin Martyr displays the same appreciation for the distinct authority of the apostles: “For from Jerusalem there went out into the world, men, twelve in number . . . by the power of God they proclaimed to every race of men that they were sent by Christ to teach to all the word of God.” Moreover, he views the Gospels as the written embodiment of apostolic tradition: “For the apostles, in the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, have thus delivered unto us what was enjoined upon them.” Likewise, Irenaeus views all the New Testament Scriptures as the embodiment of apostolic teaching: “We have learned from none others the plan of our salvation, than from those through whom the Gospel has come down to us, which they did at one time proclaim in public, and, at a later period, by the will of God, handed down to us in the Scriptures, to be the ground and pillar of our faith.” Although this is only a sampling of patristic writers (and more could be added), the point is clear. The authoritative role of the apostles was woven into the fabric of Christianity from its very earliest stages. As C. F. D. Moule observed, “The Twelve evidently constituted the earliest Christian ‘canon.’”
Given this background, we come to the key question: what would happen if the early Christians believed that the authoritative message of the apostles were put in written form? How would such documents be viewed? Initially, of course, the apostles delivered their message orally through teaching and preaching. But it was not long before they (and others) began to write their message down. And these apostolic documents told Christians to “stand firm and hold to the traditions you were taught by us, either by our spoken word or by our letter” (2 Thess 2:15). And again, “If anyone does not obey what we say in this letter, take note of that person and have nothing to do with him” (2 Thess 3:14). It is here that we see the obvious connection between the role of the apostles and the beginnings of the canon. If apostles were viewed as the mouthpiece of Christ, and it was believed that they wrote down that apostolic message in books, then those books would be received as the very words of Christ himself. Such writings would not have to wait until second-, third- or fourth-century ecclesiastical decisions to be viewed as authoritative—instead they would be viewed as authoritative from almost the very start. For this reason, a written New Testament was not something the church formally “decided” to have at some later date, but was instead the natural outworking of the early church’s view of the function of the apostles.
While apostolic texts would certainly have been authoritative, we are still left with the question of why the apostles (or their companions) would have written in the first place. Why not just stick with oral tradition? Although we will address the issue of orality (and textuality) more fully in the next chapter, here we can briefly explore a number of factors that may have naturally led to the textualization of early Christian tradition. For one, the disposition toward written covenantal texts (as discussed above) would have no doubt played a role. The heritage of the earliest Christians was one in which covenantal revelation from God was normally placed in written form. One is reminded of God’s command to Moses: “Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘Write this as a memorial in a book’” (Ex 17:14). Isaiah is given the same command, “And now, go, write it before them on a tablet and inscribe it in a book” (Is 30:8). Also, Jeremiah is exhorted: “‘Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel: Write in a book all the words that I have spoken to you’” (Jer 30:2). And, again, we see this pattern in Habakkuk: “And the Lord answered me, ‘Write the vision; make it plain on tablets’” (Hab 2:2). Thus, why should we be surprised when the New Testament authors do the same? Indeed, John is given the same command: “‘Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches’” (Rev 1:11). Luke tells us, “It seemed good to me also . . . to write” (Lk 1:3). Similarly, Jude says, “I was very eager to write to you about our common salvation” (Jude 3). Near the end of his Gospel, John says, “But these are written [in this book] so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ” (Jn 20:31). It is here that we are faced with the possibility that Christians may have textualized their message as a way of identifying themselves with their Jewish heritage—a heritage in which God normally communicated in written form.
Second, the textualization of the apostolic message would have occurred quite naturally as the apostles—the authoritative founders of the Christian movement (Eph 2:20)—began to die out. As time passed, it would have become clear that the message would need to be maintained in a more permanent form; that is, it would need to be written down. C. F. D. Moule observes:
Where were the guarantees to be found for the authenticity of its [the church’s] claims, after the accredited eye-witnesses had ceased to be available, and when even their immediate followers were growing scarce? The answer lay inevitably in written records. With the appeal to “the Lord and the Apostles” begins an inevitable process of development leading to accredited writings.
Indeed, there is a parallel here with historiographical practices in the broader Greco-Roman world. While ancient historians clearly preferred to access historical events through the oral testimony of an eyewitness— a “living voice”—they were quite willing to put this testimony into written form as the eyewitnesses died out. Samuel Byrskog comments on these ancient historians: “The writing down of an item meant that this piece of information was given a certain abiding character.” Thus, written records and oral/eyewitness testimony were not in opposition to one another; on the contrary, written accounts were simply a way to make oral/eyewitness testimony permanently accessible.
This need to textualize the oral tradition of founding members (or eyewitnesses) is a pattern that has also been recognized by scholars who study social and cultural memory theory. In particular, the work of Jan Assmann has recognized that societies that experience an event that causes a Traditionsbruch—a “breakdown in tradition”—often turn to the written word to preserve the community memory for future generations. The textualization of this tradition provides “a more enduring media capable of carrying memory in a vital manner across generations.” Events that might threaten a community’s memory and cause a Traditionsbruch are varied, but for emerging communities, such a memory crisis is often caused by the death of the founding generation. Assmann observes, “In such situations we find not only that new texts emerge, but also that already existing texts are given enhanced normative value. Where the contact with the living models is broken, people turn to the texts in their search for guidance.” Given the deep religious significance of the apostolic generation for the earliest Christians, these studies of social memory provide a compelling explanation for the explosion of early Christian literature in the second half of the first century. In fact, it is worth observing that the textualization of tradition in these circumstances typically occurs within forty years of the community’s founding—approximately the same amount of time between the death of Jesus and the production of Mark’s Gospel. This explanation also fits quite well with the patristic testimony, which suggests that Mark’s Gospel was written to preserve the memory of Peter’s teaching just before (or upon) his death.
Another indication that early Christian literary production was (at least partly) motivated by the passing away of the apostles is the fact that many New Testament writings share elements of the “testamentary” genre. This genre (also known as a “farewell speech”) was well known in the Second Temple time period and purportedly records the final teachings of important individuals on the eve of their deaths. The raison d’être behind a testament/farewell speech is a very practical one: the critical teachings of a key person must be put in permanent written form before that person dies. This practical consideration is central to the book of 2 Peter as the apostle is on the eve of his own death: “I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to stir you up by way of reminder, since I know that the putting off of my body will be soon, as our Lord Jesus Christ made clear to me. And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things” (2 Pet 1:13-15). Similar elements of the testament/farewell speech occur in a number of other New Testament writings, including the Pastoral Epistles, Jude, the Johannine letters, Revelation, and speeches in the book of Acts (for example, Acts 20:17-35). Such features have led Charles Hill to observe:
A “testamentary aura” surrounds the writings of the NT, particularly the later ones. The apostles and their assistants are taking care to provide for the churches when the apostles depart from the scene. This is being done . . . by the preparation of written materials to function in an ongoing way for the life of the church.
The presence of these testamentary elements within the New Testament books confirms that among the earliest Christians there was already a motivation and an inclination to write. If so, then the emergence of apostolic writings would not have been unnatural and unexpected among the earliest Christians. On the contrary, it simply would have been a practical step as the apostles began to die out.
Of course, some scholars have used such testamentary elements as evidence that these New Testament books (particularly 2 Peter) are formal instances of the testamentary genre and therefore must be late pseudepigraphical works. However, such a conclusion is unnecessary. A particular writing can share certain features of the testamentary genre without being a formal instance of that genre. Indeed, 2 Peter lacks certain key features that other testamentary literature possesses; namely, it does not record a “heavenly journey” of Peter (which was common in testamentary literature), nor does it record the death of Peter or the response of his followers to his death. More importantly, 2 Peter differs substantively from other testamentary literature in that it is in the form of a letter. This particular combination—testamentary features within an epistolary structure—is unprecedented prior to the book of 2 Peter. For this reason, Green suggests that “If 2 Peter were conceived as a testament, could it not also be that the author ‘created’ this combination for use by a living and authentic author?” Thus, even if we granted that 2 Peter was a formal instance of the testamentary genre, that still does not require that the book be pseudonymous.
While the imminent death of the apostles was no doubt a factor in the textualization of apostolic teaching, there is a third motivation that may have even been more fundamental. What is it that written texts could accomplish that oral tradition could not? We return again to the work of Assmann, who suggests that the answer lies in the fact that written texts provide access to an audience that is not co-present with the speaker. Or, as Assmann put it, written texts are produced when there is “a need for transmission beyond the boundaries of an immediate situation.” It is the presence of an “extended situation” (zerdehnte Situation) that leads to the use of written texts—that is, a situation where “the speaker has to overcome distances in space and/or time in order to reach the listener.” Thus, written texts are employed by communities not as a means of rejecting oral tradition, but as a means of broadening and expanding its reach.
When we consider the situation of the apostles in the first century it becomes immediately evident that they faced an “extended situation.” Their mission was not just to those individuals that might be within their immediate hearing, but they also were called to bring their message to the entire world (Mt 28:18-20). In other words, their audience was virtually infinite over time and space (and cultures). If they were to achieve their Christ-given mission, the apostles would have to employ a means of communication that extended beyond their personal presence. No doubt this goes a long way toward explaining why the apostles (and their companions) wrote letters—there was a need to communicate the apostolic message to an ever-expanding global church that they could not oversee in person. Moreover, it suggests a plausible explanation for why the first two decades of Christianity, the 30s and 40s, produced hardly any letters while the 50s and 60s (and later) produced so many more. Perhaps the challenge of the global “extended situation” was not as apparent during the early years of the apostolic mission but became increasingly unavoidable as the church continued to expand. Regardless, the overall point should not be missed. It was the mission of the apostles which would have made writing—and the resulting collection of authoritative books—a virtual inevitability.
Conclusion
In response to the extrinsic model’s suggestion that there was nothing in early Christianity that might have led to a canon, this chapter has argued that the matrix of early Christian beliefs, when taken in tandem, would have created a favorable environment for the growth of a new revelational deposit. Those beliefs include the following:
1. Early Christians held eschatological beliefs that Israel’s long-awaited redemption had occurred in Jesus of Nazareth. Given that the Old Testament itself testifies that the age of the Messiah will bring a new divine message and that new revelation often follows redemption (what Bovon calls the event-proclamation pattern), there are good reasons to think a new divine revelation would have emerged.
2. Early Christians held beliefs about covenants, namely that in Jesus Christ God had inaugurated a new covenant with Israel (Jer 31:31). Since the Old Testament witness suggests a tight relationship between covenants and written texts, it would be natural for the earliest Christians (who were Jews) to anticipate new covenant documents. Again, as Hillers has observed, when it comes to biblical covenants, “there is a written document in connection with it, the familiar ‘text of the covenant.’”
3. Early Christians held the belief that the apostles were Christ’s authorized agents to deliver and transmit the new message of redemption. Although the apostles did this orally, they also began to write their message down (2 Thess 2:15). Thus, documents that were regarded as containing apostolic teaching would have been viewed as authoritative right from the beginning and would not have needed to wait for later ecclesiastical developments (2 Thess 3:14).
Given this first-century context, and the likely predispositions of early Christians, why should we attribute the emergence of a new collection of scriptural books solely to later ecclesiastical politics? Should we not at least consider the possibility that these scriptural books may have emerged because the first-century environment was conducive to the production of such books? If so, then we should be hesitant to suggest that the idea of a canon “was utterly remote from the minds of the first generations of Christian believers.” On the contrary, it seems that the minds of the first generations of Christian believers might have been focused on the very things that would have led to the development of a new corpus of sacred books. Paul Achtemeier sums it up: “The formation of the canon represented the working out of forces that were already present in the primitive Christian community and that would have made some form of canon virtually inevitable.”