Conclusion
5
The Date of Canon
Were the New Testament Books First Regarded as Scripture at the End of the Second Century?
[Irenaeus] essentially created the core of the New Testament canon of Holy Scripture.
ARTHUR BELLINZONI
“The Gospel of Luke in the Apostolic Fathers: An Overview,” in Trajectories Through the New Testament and the Apostolic Fathers
Few issues in the study of the New Testament canon have generated more discussion than that of the canon’s date. When did New Testament writings first begin to be viewed as Scripture? For those who argue that the New Testament books were not written with any intention of being authoritative documents, there seems to be an ever-growing gap between the time of their production and the time they were regarded as scriptural. Indeed, the former belief is often the foundation for the latter—if these books were not written to be Scripture, then we should not expect to see them used as Scripture until a much later time in the life of the church. The date of the canon, as a result, has been pushed further and further back. Many modern scholars have now settled on the end of the second century (ca. 200) as the point at which much of this transition took place. Helmut Koester is quite clear: “In the later period, the Gospels were considered holy scripture; no such respect was accorded them in the earliest period [before the year 200 C.E.].” Lee McDonald holds the same view: “[New Testament] documents were not generally recognized as Scripture until the end of the second century C.E.” Similar positions can be found in Hans von Campenhausen, Dimitris Kyrtatus, Kenneth Carroll and a number of other scholars. Thus, we come to the fifth (and final) major tenet of the extrinsic model, namely that the end of the second century was the decisive period when these documents attained a scriptural status.
The reason for this focus on the end of the second century is not hard to find. It is at this point that the major figure Irenaeus, bishop of Lyons, offers some of the clearest and most comprehensive statements on the canon to date. Most notable is his affirmation that the four Gospels were so certain that their existence is entrenched in the very structure of creation: “It is not possible that the gospels can be either more or fewer than the number they are. For, since there are four zones of the world in which we live and four principle winds . . . [and] the cherubim, too, were four-faced.” But it is not just the Gospels that Irenaeus affirms. He quotes other New Testament books extensively, even more than the Old Testament, and clearly regards them as Scripture. These include the entire Pauline corpus (minus Philemon), Acts, Hebrews, James, 1 Peter, 1 and 2 John, and Revelation—over one thousand New Testament passages in total. It is for these reasons that Elaine Pagels regards Irenaeus as the “principal architect” of the canon, that Arthur Bellinzoni says that Irenaeus “essentially created the core of the New Testament canon of Holy Scripture,” and that others regard everything prior to Irenaeus as simply the “prehistory” of the canon. In the opinion of these scholars, Irenaeus is an innovator. His actions were a “radical departure from traditional Christian practice.” In an effort to defend the church against what he regarded as aberrant views (primarily Marcion’s), Irenaeus imposed a new set of Scriptures on a church that, up to that point, was quite content with oral tradition.
To be sure, there is much in this account of the canon’s origins that is correct. It is quite reasonable for scholars to gravitate to the end of the second century given that the extant sources related to canon are more abundant (and more explicit) during this time period. Thus we are able to draw more certain conclusions about the state of the canon at the end of the second century, as opposed to the beginning of that century, when the historical waters are more murky. Moreover, as Larry Hurtado has observed, the latter half of the second century brings certain advantages in the way books are cited: “Christian writers of the decades prior to ca. 150 CE do not characteristically cite texts explicitly in the way that texts are cited much more frequently in subsequent times.” Nevertheless, we still must ask whether the existence of a new scriptural corpus of books can really be laid so fully at the feet of Irenaeus. Is it historically plausible to think that such an authoritative corpus popped into existence so quickly? A catalyst for such a seismic shift does not appear readily at hand. While prior generations of scholars might have appealed to Marcion as the catalyst, recent research has suggested that Marcion’s influence was not nearly as great as supposed. If so, then the Irenaeus-as-innovator approach, and the late date for the canon that it implies, warrants a reevaluation. This chapter will probe deeper into the early stages of the second century and will argue that, while the evidence is limited, there are still indications that books were received as Scripture prior to the time of Irenaeus. Such evidence indicates that the origin of a new corpus of scriptural books should not be conceived of as a “big bang” type of event, extrinsically imposed on the church, but as something that grew gradually over time with roots that extend further back in the history of the church than previously allowed.
Understanding Irenaeus
We must begin our discussion by first looking more closely at Irenaeus’s own declarations. Does he provide indications that he is the innovator and architect of a new corpus of scriptural books? Are there hints that he is peddling a new idea to the church that would be unknown and unfamiliar? When we take a closer look at Against Heresies, this does not appear to be the case at all. Throughout this treatise Irenaeus is content to use and cite a wide variety of New Testament books as Scripture and presumes his audience is familiar with them. He appeals to these books quite naturally and unapologetically, cites them by name, and provides no indication that this audience might be unaware of their existence or surprised by their authoritative role in the life of the church. In fact, as Charles E. Hill has observed, “It is only in Book 3 that [Irenaeus] pauses to say anything specific about the authoritative Scriptural sources that he had been using without apology up to that point.” Thus, Irenaeus does not write like a person advocating the scriptural status of these books for the first time.
But what about Irenaeus’s rather esoteric argument that the Fourfold Gospel is reflective of the fourfold creatures around the throne? Does this not indicate that Irenaeus is on the defensive and in a desperate search for some basis for his new beliefs? Some scholars would say yes. Geoffrey Hahneman insists that Irenaeus’s reasoning “suggests that this must have been something of an innovation, for if a Fourfold Gospel had been established and generally acknowledged, then Irenaeus would not have offered such a tortured insistence on its numerical legitimacy.” However, several factors suggest otherwise. First, even if Irenaeus’s reasoning implies he is in a defensive posture against contemporary challenges (presumably Marcion), this does not necessarily mean that his beliefs are innovative. The existence of opposition to a belief should not be taken as evidence that a belief is new and unestablished—as some scholars seem prone to do. Irenaeus could simply be defending the church’s long-held beliefs against the challenges that have arisen in his own time. Indeed, this is Irenaeus’ own view of the matter (which surely must bear some weight). He believed that the message of salvation was “handed down to us in the Scriptures” which the apostles themselves (and their companions) had written. Thus, he sees the concept of a Christian corpus of Scriptures as something that dates back to the apostolic era, something the church has possessed long before his own time (and Marcion’s). Given that Irenaeus was a disciple of Polycarp, who knew the apostle John personally, his testimony about the origins of the Scriptures cannot be dismissed lightly.
Second, while Irenaeus’s appeal to the four creatures around the throne may appear to be a “tortured” argument to our modern ears—and therefore evidence of his desperateness—it would not have been viewed this way in the ancient world. Early Christians (and Jews) would have regarded numbers as having substantial symbolic significance. Regarding the number four, G. K. Beale notes that it is “a number of completeness, especially connoting something of universal or worldwide scope.” Not only is the number four used this way in Revelation—the very book to which Irenaeus alludes—but it also used this way in earlier Jewish writings. For instance, the Sibylline Oracles comment on Adam in a similar fashion: “It is God himself who fashioned Adam of four letters, the first-formed man, fulfilling by his name east, west, south, and north.” This background helps us understand the kind of argument that Irenaeus is making. Like the author of the Sibylline Oracles, Irenaeus can look back on what God has done, observe its symbolic balance and proportion, and conclude that it is precisely what we might expect God to do. As Hill reminds us, “Irenaeus’s argument is not one of logical necessity but of aesthetic necessity, of harmony, beauty or proportion.” Thus, Irenaeus’s appeal to the number four should not be viewed as an awkward, artificial argument that betrays a brand-new approach to the canon. Indeed, it is more likely to indicate the opposite—Irenaeus is simply offering a retrospective theological explanation for a longstanding church tradition.
Third, T. C. Skeat has argued that the tradition linking the Fourfold Gospel with the four creatures around God’s throne was one that preceded Irenaeus and thus derives from an earlier point in the second century. While Irenaeus clearly appeals to the order of the creatures in Revelation, Skeat demonstrates that a number of features of Irenaeus’s description of these creatures actually derives from Ezekiel’s account. The best explanation for this phenomenon, he argues, is that Irenaeus took over an earlier tradition concerning the Fourfold Gospel that appealed to the fourfold creatures in Ezekiel, and then he made a similar argument based on the four creatures in Revelation. Thus, Irenaeus’s conception of a Fourfold Gospel is actually based on much older church tradition.
All of these factors indicate that there are no reasons to regard Irenaeus’s most controversial claim—that the church receives four and only four Gospels—to be a new idea in his day. Graham Stanton sums it up: “By the time Irenaeus wrote in about 180 AD, the fourfold Gospel was very well established. Irenaeus is not defending an innovation, but explaining why, unlike the heretics, the church has four gospels, no more, no less.”
Contemporaries of Irenaeus
Now that we have examined Irenaeus himself, we need to ask next whether there were others in his general time frame that shared his views about the scriptural status of these books. While Irenaeus is often portrayed as the lone voice for a new scriptural canon, we shall see below that he is far from alone in his beliefs. Indeed, the fact that a number of other historical sources from this time period reflect similar beliefs suggests that the scriptural status of New Testament books has a much older pedigree.
The Muratorian Fragment. Written at almost the same time as Irenaeus, the Muratorian fragment is our earliest canonical list (ca. 180). The list confirms the scriptural status of twenty-two of the twenty-seven New Testament books, including all four Gospels, Acts, the thirteen epistles of Paul, Jude, 1 and 2 John (and possibly 3 John), and Revelation. Hebrews, James, and 1 and 2 Peter are not mentioned, though it is unclear why. In addition, the list appears to include two apocryphal books, namely the Apocalypse of Peter and the Wisdom of Solomon. However, the inclusion of these apocryphal writings does not affect its relevance for our discussion here. The question before us is whether Christians possessed a corpus of written Scriptures prior to the end of the second century, not whether there was complete unity about which books. We should not use lack of agreement over the edges of the canon as evidence for the lack of the existence of a canon. When one compares Irenaeus and the Muratorian fragment, there is remarkable unity on the core, namely the four Gospels, the Pauline epistles, Acts, and a few of the smaller books.
For those who insist that Irenaeus is the “principal architect” of the canon, the existence of the Muratorian fragment is problematic. It not only indicates that others beyond Irenaeus already regarded these books as having a scriptural status, but it also indicates that early Christians had already begun to do what some would regard as unthinkable: draw boundaries around these books by placing them in a defined list. Such an act of restriction and limitation suggests that by the end of the second century the canon is at a fairly mature stage—a reality that is at odds with the “big bang” approach to canon. For these reasons, the date of the Muratorian fragment has been challenged by some. Most notable is the work of Albert C. Sundberg, who argued that the fragment has been wrongly dated and is a better fit within the fourth century. Sundberg’s work has been followed and expanded by Hahneman. Although this fourth-century date has been adopted by some scholars, the second-century date has been thoroughly defended and remains the dominant view. Joseph Verheyden sums it up well: “None of the arguments put forward by Sundberg and Hahneman in favour of a fourth-century, eastern origin of the Fragment are convincing.”
Theophilus of Antioch. Theophilus was bishop of Antioch and wrote his only surviving work, To Autolycus, around A.D. 177. At one point in this apologetic treatise, Theophilus tries to persuade Autolycus that Christian writings had the same level of integrity and authority as Old Testament writings, despite the fact that they were not as ancient. To accomplish this goal, Theophilus argues that Christian writings, while newer than the Old Testament, share the same level of inspiration by the Holy Spirit: “Concerning the righteousness which the law enjoined, confirmatory utterances are found both with the prophets and in the Gospels, because they all spoke inspired by one Spirit of God.” It is noteworthy that in this passage Theophilus places the “Gospels” on the same level of inspiration and authority as the Old Testament Prophets. While written at different times, they have the same integrity because God is the author of both. Which Gospels did he have in mind? In the next few sentences, Theophilus proceeds to give examples of the “Prophets” by quoting from Isaiah, Jeremiah, Hosea, Zechariah and Proverbs. He then proceeds to give an example of the “Gospels” by citing Matthew four times (Mt 5:28, 32, 44; 6:3). Elsewhere he plainly affirms the scriptural status of John, even mentioning him by name: “And hence the holy writings teach us, and all the spirit-bearing [inspired] men, one of whom, John, says, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God.’” Theophilus also appears to cite Luke 18:27 and places it alongside citations from Genesis and Isaiah, all of which are designed to show the might and power of God in creation. Although Theophilus does not mention Mark’s Gospel in this short treatise, his knowledge of all four Gospels is likely given the fact that Jerome informs us that Theophilus composed a harmony of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. In this manner, he was like Tatian, who composed his famous Gospel harmony, the Diatesseron, about the same time period. Tatian also based his harmony on the four canonical Gospels; indeed, the term Diatesseron means “through four.”
In regard to whether Theophilus knew other New Testament writings, Robert M. Grant catalogs an impressive number of Pauline phrases which “show that Theophilus was acquainted with a collection of Pauline letters, probably including the Pastoral Epistles.” As for whether Theophilus regarded these letters as Scripture, he cites Titus 3:1, 1 Timothy 2:1-2 and Romans 3:7 and plainly refers to them as “the divine word” (θεῖος λόγος). Again, Grant observes, “The divine word from the Pauline epistles is on approximately the same level as prophet and gospel quoted before.” Also, after exhorting the reader to look to the “prophetic Scriptures,” Theophilus proceeds to cite Romans 2:7-9, likely indicating that he viewed the book of Romans as part of these Scriptures. As for other New Testament books, Eusebius informs us that Theophilus used the book of Revelation to refute the heretic Hermogenes (suggesting the possibility that Theophilus viewed it as Scripture), but we have no certain evidence about his view of the Catholic Epistles. Of course, this should not be taken as an indication that Theophilus did not consider the Catholic Epistles to be scriptural—silence about a book is not evidence for the rejection of that book (particularly given that we only possess this single surviving work). In the final analysis, the core of Theophilus’s collection of scriptural books is basically the same as that of Irenaeus; it included the four Gospels, the Pauline letters, and likely a few other books.
Clement of Alexandria. Writing only slightly later than Irenaeus (ca. 198), Clement of Alexandria provides yet another critical glimpse into the state of the canon at the end of the second century. As the head of the catechetical school of Alexandria, Clement was an intellectual giant and well-read in both biblical and extrabiblical literature—the latter of which he would employ quite often in his own theological writings. Thus, Clement felt free to use a variety of apocryphal writings, such as Preaching of Peter, the Gospel of the Egyptians and the Gospel of the Hebrews. However, his mere use of these writings, contrary to the claims of some scholars, is not an indication that he regarded them as scriptural. Nor was it an indication that the scriptural status of New Testament books was in doubt during his time period. Clement, like others in his day, was quite willing to employ extracanonical writings while, at the same time, clearly distinguishing them from the books he regarded as scriptural. In his mind, there was nothing inconsistent about this practice. For instance, when it comes to gospel writings, he expressly affirms that there are four, and only four “traditional” Gospels that the church receives: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. At one point, while using a saying from the Gospel of the Egyptians, he intentionally downplays its authority by noting that the saying does not occur in our canonical four. Thus, Martin Hengel reminds us, “Clement’s relative generosity towards ‘apocryphal’ texts and traditions, which is connected with the unique spiritual milieu in Alexandria and his constant controversies with many kinds of discussion partners . . . should not obscure the fact that even for him the apostolic origin and special church authority of the four gospels was already unassailable.”
Of course, Clement affirmed more books as scriptural beyond the four Gospels. He received all thirteen Epistles of Paul, Hebrews, Acts, 1 Peter, 1 and 2 John, Jude and Revelation. And again, there are neither any indications that Clement viewed the scriptural status of these books as an innovation, nor does he appear to have received his information from Irenaeus. On the contrary, like Irenaeus, he viewed these books as having an ancient pedigree within the Christian church. These were the ones that were “handed down” to the church from the apostles themselves. Clement’s commitment to the New Testament books, over and above the apocryphal literature or other Christian writings, is also borne out in the degree of frequency with which he cites them. James Brooks has observed that Clement cites the canonical books “about sixteen times more often than apocryphal and patristic writings.” This disparity is thrown into sharper relief when we consider just the four Gospels. According to the work of Bernard Mutschler, Clement references Matthew 757 times, Luke 402 times, John 331 times and Mark 182 times. Comparatively, Clement cites apocryphal gospels only 16 times. Apparently, Clement was not in doubt about which books he regarded as canonical.
Thus, we see a clear pattern emerging. At the end of the second century, it appears that Irenaeus was not alone. According to the Muratorian fragment, Theophilus of Antioch and Clement of Alexandria (not to mention Tatian)—influential and geographically diverse sources at the end of the second century—there was a core collection of scriptural books in place that the church fathers themselves did not view as newly established. Such a widespread belief cannot be explained solely by the “big bang” theory of canonization centered on Irenaeus. It must have roots that predate the end of the second century.
Predecessors to Irenaeus
If Irenaeus was not the canonical innovator he is often made out to be, then he must have received his canonical traditions from those who preceded him. So we turn our attention to the middle and early parts of the second century. However, as noted above, this will not be a simple task. The further back we journey into this century, the murkier the historical waters become. And due to the different patterns of citation during this time, we should not expect the same level of clarity and certainty as afforded by writers such as Irenaeus, Clement and Theophilus. Nevertheless, if the New Testament canon did not pop into existence overnight, then we should expect to find some remnants of its existence during this earlier time period.
Justin Martyr. If we are searching for a historical precedent for the widespread beliefs about canon at the end of the second century, then Justin Martyr (writing ca. 150–160) is a promising candidate. For one, we should remember that he was the teacher and mentor of Tatian himself. Thus, if Tatian clearly knew the four canonical Gospels, we have good historical grounds for thinking he would have received this information from Justin. When we look more closely into Justin’s writings, our suspicions are confirmed. He refers to plural “gospels” and at one point provides an indication of how many he has in mind when he describes these gospels as “drawn up by His apostles and those who followed them.” Since such language indicates (at least) two gospels written by apostles, and (at least) two written by apostolic companions, it is most naturally understood as reference to our four canonical Gospels. This finds support in the fact that Justin cites from all three Synoptic Gospels, and even refers to Mark’s Gospel as “[Peter’s] Memoirs,” showing that he was not only familiar with these three Gospels but also the earlier church tradition about their origins.
Although some deny that Justin knew John’s Gospel, there are good reasons to think that he did. After all, Justin clearly knew other Johannine literature, such as the book of Revelation, which he regarded as written by the apostle John. No doubt his familiarity with Johannine tradition is connected to the fact that during his dialogue with Trypho he lived in John’s former residence of Ephesus. Moreover, Justin is quite familiar with Johannine terminology such as logos, as well as a number of themes distinctive to John’s Gospel, and even seems to cite the Gospel of John directly: “For Christ also said, ‘Except ye be born again, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven’” (compare Jn 3:3). All these considerations, combined with the fact that Justin’s disciple Tatian used the Gospel of John as the chronological backbone of his Diatesseron, and that Justin claims to know more than just three gospels, makes it difficult to believe that John was not included in Justin’s gospel collection.
Even if Justin had a Fourfold Gospel collection, there is still the question of whether he regarded these writings as Scripture. In this regard, much has been made of the fact that Justin does not refer to these Gospels by name but regularly calls them the “memoirs of the apostles” (ἀπομνημονεύματα τῶν ἀποστόλων), suggesting that “he values them chiefly as historical records, not as inspired Scripture.” However, this may be reading too much into Justin’s language. The fact that Justin does not explicitly name the Gospel authors, but instead uses the classical Greek term “memoirs,” is likely due to the apologetic context in which he writes—unbelieving Jews and Gentiles would have recognized the latter but would have had little interest in the former. In addition, it appears that Justin probably derived the “memoirs” language from his own predecessor Papias (whom we will discuss below). If we want to know Justin’s opinion of these memoirs, we will do better to look in other places. In particular, we should consider Justin’s understanding of their role in worship:
And on the day called Sunday, all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things.
This passage is particularly instructive because it informs us that Justin regarded these “memoirs” as on par with the Old Testament Prophets. Martin Hengel comments on this passage, “It is striking that the reading of the Gospels is mentioned before the prophets; to some extent it has taken over the significance of the Jewish reading of the Torah.” It is no surprise, then, that when Justin draws upon the canonical Gospels, he often uses “it is written,” the formula citandi for introducing scriptural books. He even cites the canonical Gospels alongside Old Testament texts, “with the clear implication that they have the same status.”
It is worth noting that Justin’s testimony about Christian books being read in public worship finds confirmation in the physical features of New Testament manuscripts from this time period. While it is not always easy to determine whether a manuscript is designed for public or private use—these are not absolute categories that can be entirely separated from one another—a number of our earliest New Testament manuscripts exhibit features that suggest they were designed for public reading. Although it may come as a surprise to us in the modern day, most ancient books were not designed to make the reading task an easy one. Colin Roberts observed that, “As a rule Greek manuscripts make very few concessions to the reader.” However, Scott Charlesworth has shown that it is precisely in this area that our New Testament manuscripts, even as early as the second century, are distinctive. Not only do they often contain a number of reading aids (for example, sense breaks, diaeresis, rough breathing marks, punctuation points, accents), but they often have much fewer lines per page when compared to other Greco-Roman texts. Such features suggests that these manuscripts were designed “to ease the task of [public] reading aloud.” If so, then we have further confirmation that by the middle of the second century, these writings were functioning as Scripture in the context of Christian worship.
Of course, some scholars have doubted Justin’s commitment to a Fourfold Gospel on the grounds that his Gospel citations are often harmonized and thus must be from another source beside the canonical four. Koester even suggests that Justin was producing a new Gospel harmony—“the one inclusive new Gospel”—which would make all the other gospels “obsolete.” William Petersen argues that Justin’s harmony was actually the precursor to Tatian’s harmony, the latter being dependent on the former. While Koester and Petersen are correct that Justin, at times, cites from the Gospels in a harmonized fashion, there are no indications that he wrote a full-scale harmony designed to be a new super-Gospel. Indeed, the high degree of authority he attributes to apostolic Gospels (as noted above) would make such an intention quite unlikely. A better solution, suggested by Graham Stanton, Oskar Skarsaune and others, is that Justin is probably drawing from a collection of Jesus sayings that had been extracted from the Gospels for catechetical instruction. Such “testimony books” were not unusual during this time period, and authors would often harmonize or conflate the material drawn from the main source. Thus, rather than suggesting that Justin is trying to supersede the canonical Gospels, we should just recognize that he cites them in two different ways; sometimes he does so directly (most often in the Dialogue), and other times, he draws from his collection of harmonized Jesus sayings (most often in the Apology).
As for other New Testament books, the evidence is much less clear. Paul Foster sees little evidence that Justin was aware of Paul’s letters. He argues that “in the surviving writings of Justin there is no obvious sign of Paul or his writings.” In contrast, Skarsaune argues that Justin shows “extensive” use of Paul’s letters, particularly Romans, Galatians and Ephesians, and Barnard even argues that Justin knew all of Paul’s letters (minus the Pastorals). Such scholarly disagreements are difficult to resolve. However, it is reasonable to think that Justin might have known Paul’s letters given his interactions with Marcion. In regard to what sort of authority Justin might have attributed to Paul’s letters (if he knew them), we can only deduce his views based on his general opinion of the apostles. For Justin, the apostles were proclaimers of “the word of God,” in fulfillment of God’s promises to send new prophets, and it was Christ himself who spoke “through the apostles.” Thus, if he knew Paul’s letters, we have good reasons to think he would have held Paul’s letters (and writings of other apostles) in the highest regard. In addition to Paul, Justin also seems to show knowledge of Acts, 1 Peter, Hebrews and Revelation. Although the scriptural status of the first three is unclear, Justin seems to place a high value on Revelation. He affirms Revelation’s apostolic character and even refers to it as one of “our writings” in contradistinction to the Old Testament books.
The apostolic fathers. There has been much scholarly discussion on the role of the apostolic fathers in tracing the origins of the New Testament writings. Some scholars have been quite skeptical about whether the apostolic fathers reveal much of anything about the development of the canon, arguing that most of the Jesus tradition we find in these writings was likely drawn from other sources, whether oral or written. After all, it is argued, the shape of the Jesus tradition found in these writers is often different from what we find in the canonical Gospels. And the skepticism of some scholars goes even further. William Petersen has argued that even if a citation in the apostolic fathers is an exact match with a known New Testament writing we still cannot be absolutely sure the author is quoting that writing because the text of the New Testament was continually in flux during this time period. Similar arguments have been made by other scholars, who remind us that many other sources were available to early Christians that might have contained Jesus tradition with the same wording as our New Testament Gospels (for example, the Q source). In light of such considerations, Koester makes it clear where he thinks the burden of proof should be: “Unless it can be proven otherwise, it must be assumed that authors who referred to and quoted such materials [Jesus tradition] were dependent upon these life situations of the church and did not quote from written documents.”
No doubt these scholars are correct that the writings of the apostolic fathers present sticky situations—it is not always easy to determine the source of their citations. The work of Koester, Petersen and others has rightly corrected prior studies that have been overly confident that the New Testament writings are (usually) the best explanation. Surely the apostolic fathers did continue to draw on oral tradition (and other sources) well into the second century. Thus, it is important that we be appropriately cautious and careful. However, does this mean that the apostolic fathers cannot inform our understanding of the development of the canon? And does it mean that our default position must be that the apostolic fathers were using oral tradition unless it can be proved otherwise? Although we cannot fully resolve this debate here, several considerations suggest that we have grounds for being a little more optimistic:
1. Those like Koester who insist that oral tradition is the best explanation of Jesus tradition in the apostolic fathers often presuppose the standard form-critical model where the earliest Christians had an aversion to written texts and preferred (almost exclusively) oral tradition well into the second century. But, as observed in chapter three above, this entire model is seriously in doubt. Earliest Christianity was a religion of textuality—even if large numbers of its followers were unable to read. Not only are written and oral methods of transmission not opposed to each other, but they can, and often do, exist side by side and complement one another. If so, then there is no reason to think the burden of proof must lie in only one direction. We can agree with James Kelhoffer when he argues that “the burden of proof for ascertaining literary dependence should not necessarily rest with those who tend to argue either in favor or against literary dependence . . . [witnesses] must be considered on a case by case basis.”
2. If early Christianity as a whole was characterized by textuality, then we would expect this to be particularly true for the apostolic fathers themselves who (obviously) were quite literate, not only composing their own texts, but often interacting with the writings of others. Thus, we have good reasons to think that the apostolic fathers, more than average Christians, would have been aware of, and influenced by, written texts. If so, then the key question is as follows: If we know early Christianity in general was textually oriented, and if we know that the apostolic fathers in particular were quite willing to interact with other Christian writings, then why should we presume that they “did not quote from written documents” when it comes to the material that sounds like it comes from the New Testament? There appears to be little reason to do so. Once again, scholars should be equally open to the possibility of oral or written sources.
3. While the apostolic fathers wrote (for the most part) in the first half of the second century, we have even earlier (first-century) examples where authors were already drawing on written gospel material. The two most common solutions to the Synoptic problem—the two-source hypothesis and the Griesbach hypothesis—both agree that there was literary dependence between the authors of the earliest gospels; either Matthew and Luke copied Mark and Q (two-source), or Mark copied from Matthew and Luke (Griesbach). And even if one acknowledges that oral tradition also played a key role in this complex matrix, few doubt that there was at least some textual dependence between these various authors. If a substantive level of textual dependency is happening in the first century, why would we think that it is not a likely scenario in the second century among the apostolic fathers when these texts are even more well known?
4. It is certainly correct that even if a citation in the apostolic fathers is an exact match with a known New Testament writing, we still cannot be absolutely sure that it is a citation from that book. But why must the only goal of our historical analysis be the production of absolutely certain results? It seems that such a “minimalist” approach sets the bar so high for what counts as a reference to a New Testament book that no reasonable level of historical evidence could meet it. It should be no surprise, then, if very few instances are found where the apostolic fathers actually cite New Testament books—that conclusion was already determined by the method. As an alternative, we might consider that the goal of historical analysis is not to produce absolutely certain results (lest we are left with no results), but results that are reasonable and probable. For this reason, other scholars have suggested that when we have a match, it is reasonable to explain the data on the basis of known sources, rather than conjectural ones.
5. We do well to remember Larry Hurtado’s observation above that earlier writers in the second century tend to quote books without identifying their sources—but this does not mean they did not know and use these books. He asks,
Is the practice of the post-150 CE period indicative of an emergent “text consciousness” or is it more correct to see an emergent author-consciousness? That is, I suggest that what changes in the post-150 CE period is a greater tendency to see texts as the works of authors and so to cite them as such, rather than simply appropriating the contents of texts.
In fact, even Irenaeus often cites the “words of the Lord” without identifying his sources, even though it is clear he is drawing on the written Gospels.
6. The fact that the textual form of the citations in the apostolic fathers is, at times, different than what we find in our New Testament should also not be used as evidence that these authors were unaware of the New Testament books (or that they were necessarily drawing from other sources). Written texts were encountered by most people in the ancient world primarily in oral forms (public readings, recitations and retelling of stories, and so on) due to the fact that society was largely nonliterate. Thus, as people would make oral use of the Gospel texts, then it would be quite natural for some citations to be paraphrased or conflated. Such loose citations were also common in Greco-Roman literature. E. G. Turner notes that the need for exact citations “is a presupposition of scholarship we take for granted, but it was not part of the tradition of classical Greece. Used to the cut and thrust of oral dialectic, the Greeks tended to be careless of exact quotation or copying and of precise chronology, undisturbed by anachronisms.”
Although these considerations are not sufficient to answer all our questions, they at least give us reason to think that the apostolic fathers may have more to show us about the development of the New Testament canon than some have supposed. Therefore, let us now turn our attention to a few examples.
Papias. One of the most significant figures during this time period is Papias, bishop of Hierapolis, who wrote around A.D. 125. Although the historical value of Papias’s testimony has been disputed by some scholars, his credibility as a source has been defended by others. What makes Papias particularly noteworthy is the fact that he was historically positioned to have credible knowledge about the New Testament writings—according to Irenaeus, he was a friend of Polycarp and had heard the apostle John preach. Eusebius also points out that he knew the daughters of Philip the Evangelist (Acts 21:8-9). Moreover, Papias plainly declares that the source of his information is “the Elder” who is likely to be “John the Elder,” whom Papias refers to elsewhere as a disciple and eyewitness of Jesus himself. This means that even though Papias wrote around A.D. 125, he received this information about the Gospels directly from one of Jesus’ disciples at the end of the first century (ca. 90–100). This makes Papias’s testimony one of the most critical for understanding how early Christians viewed these books.
Papias provides information about a number of New Testament writings, but he speaks most plainly about the origins of the canonical Gospels:
The Elder used to say: Mark became Peter’s interpreter and wrote accurately all that he [Peter] remembered (ἐμνημόνευσεν). . . . For he was intent on just one purpose: to leave nothing out that he heard or to include any falsehood among them. . . . Matthew collected the oracles (τὰ λόγια) in the Hebrew language (Ἑβραῖδι διαλέκτῳ), and each interpreted them as best he could.
Papias indicates that Mark’s Gospel was received on the basis of its connections with the apostle Peter—a very old tradition within early Christianity. This fits well with the observation made by Richard Bauckham that Mark’s Gospel forms an impressive literary inclusio centered on the person of Peter. Moreover, Papias assures the reader of the reliability of Mark’s account when he says that Mark made sure “to leave nothing out that he heard or to include any falsehood among them”—a standard “integrity formula” reflective of Deuteronomy 4:2. If Papias received Mark’s Gospel on the basis of its apostolic (and eyewitness) credentials, no doubt he would have regarded it as having substantial authority. This also likely explains Papias’s reception of Matthew’s Gospel—he viewed it too as an early apostolic witness. Indeed, Cameron argues that Papias’s entire discussion is designed to show that Mark and Matthew are a “reliable, authoritative witness” and derive “from the earliest stage of transmission.” In other words, according to Papias, the reliability of Mark and Matthew is “guaranteed by authoritative remembrances.” In this regard, there is a striking parallel between the way Papias describes the canonical Gospels as something “remembered” (ἐμνημόνευσεν) by the apostles, and the way Justin Martyr describes the Gospels as the “memoirs” (ἀπομνημονεύματα) of the apostles. This shows an impressive amount of continuity in early gospel traditions—apparently Justin was simply following a well-established pattern, already present in Papias’s time, of describing the canonical Gospels as the “memoirs of the apostles.”
Of course, some scholars have argued that the “Matthew” mentioned by Papias is not really a reference to our canonical Matthew but probably to an early Aramaic sayings source, perhaps similar to Q. This argument is based on the following: (1) Papias’s Matthew was originally written in Hebrew and we know that the canonical Matthew was not; and (2) Papias’s Matthew is called τὰ λόγια (“the oracles”), which is not a normal term for the Gospels and again suggests a sayings source like Q. But neither of these is a compelling reason to think something other than the canonical Matthew is meant. The odd statement that Matthew originally wrote in Ἑβραῖδι διαλέκτῳ can be understood as indicating that Matthew wrote in a Hebraic style, or that Papias was simply confused on this particular point, but neither requires that Papias is referring to a Q-like source. As for τὰ λόγια, the phrase is also used by Papias to describe the Gospel of Mark, which is clearly not just a sayings source because Papias said it included “things said or done by the Lord.”
As for other New Testament writings, it appears that Papias also knew 1 John, 1 Peter, Revelation and also some Pauline epistles. Given that Papias knew Johannine writings, and also sat under John’s preaching, we have good grounds for thinking he would have known John’s Gospel. This possibility is given further credence when we recognize that the list of disciples given by Papias matches the order in which they appear in John’s Gospel. Thus, Bauckham declares, “There should be no doubt that Papias knew the Fourth Gospel.” There are also good reasons to think that Papias knew Luke, but we cannot be sure. But, if he did, then this suggests a Fourfold Gospel in the first half of the second century—something also suggested by a number of other scholars.
In light of the methodological skepticism often displayed toward the apostolic fathers (discussed above), this testimony from Papias is particularly stunning. While some scholars have argued that the citations in the apostolic fathers ought to be explained solely on the basis of oral tradition, Papias reminds us that early Christians (even by the end of the first century) were already thinking of Jesus tradition in light of written documents—two of which were named Matthew and Mark. This fact alone should provide doubts about whether oral tradition (or apocryphal sources) should be viewed as the primary source for Jesus tradition during this time period.
The Epistle of Barnabas. Written sometime in the early second century (ca. 130), the Epistle of Barnabas was quite popular with early Christians. It is a theological treatise that argues, among other things, that Christians are the rightful heirs and interpreters of the Old Testament. At one point it appears to cite a New Testament book: ὡς γέγραπται πολλοὶ κλητοὶ ὀλίγοι δὲ ἐκλεκτοὶ εὐρεθῶμεν (“As it is written, ‘Many are called, but few are chosen’”). The fact that the only parallel for this citation is Matthew 22:14 has led a number of scholars, including Köhler and Carleton Paget, to suggest that Matthew is the most likely source. The standard attempt to explain such citations by appealing to oral tradition is not possible in this case due to the introductory phrase γέγραπται—a written source is surely required. And while we certainly cannot rule out the possibility that Barnabas is drawing upon another written gospel besides Matthew, it seems unreasonable to insist that such an unknown gospel is the better explanation of the data. After all, we know that Matthew was a very popular writing during this time period and was certainly regarded as Scripture by others (including Justin Martyr and probably Papias). Moreover, Pier Beatrice has argued that both Matthew and Barnabas introduce the citation in a very similar theological context—a polemic against the Jews combined with a warning against the new people of God—making it even more likely that the latter is directly citing the former.
Some have still insisted that Barnabas is not citing Matthew by suggesting that (1) the author of Barnabas mistakenly believed the passage came from the Old Testament, or that (2) the author is drawing on a similar text in 4 Ezra 8:3: “many are created but few are saved.” However, not only is there no evidence that Barnabas made a mistake (that is pure conjecture), but there is minimal verbal overlap between Barnabas 4:14 and 4 Ezra 8:3. Why should we prefer 4 Ezra as a source when the match with Matthew is nearly identical? Moreover, if we are trying to trace relationships between these texts, then it is more likely that Matthew 22:14 was itself a modification/extrapolation of 4 Ezra 8:3, which was then quoted later by the author of Barnabas. In fact, a number of scholars have argued Matthew 22:14 is a redactional addition of Matthew. And if Barnabas reflects knowledge of a Matthean redaction, then this increases the likelihood that it was actually drawing on Matthew’s Gospel. Carleton Paget concludes:
But in spite of all these arguments, it still remains the case that the closest existing text to Barn 4.14 in all known literature is Matt 22.14, and one senses that attempts to argue for independence from Matthew are partly motivated by a desire to avoid the implications of the formula citandi [“it is written”] which introduces the relevant words: namely, that the author of Barnabas regarded Matthew as scriptural.
If we are correct that Barnabas is citing the Gospel of Matthew as Scripture, then we might be more open to considering the possibility that he does so elsewhere in his treatise. In addition, it tells us something critical about this time period; it tells us that early Christians were not, in principle, opposed to (or unfamiliar with) the idea that a written New Testament text could be considered “Scripture” on par with the Old.
Ignatius. Ignatius is a particularly useful source for analyzing the early reception of New Testament writings not only because he was an influential bishop in a major metropolitan city (Antioch), but also because he wrote numerous epistles at the turn of the century en route to his martyrdom in Rome (ca. A.D. 110). Most noteworthy is that Ignatius appears to have known and used quite an extensive collection of Paul’s letters. Paul Foster is quite confident that Ignatius knew at least four of these—1 Corinthians, Ephesians, and 1 and 2 Timothy. This is confirmed not only by Ignatius’s citation of these books, but also by a statement in his epistle to the Ephesians: “Paul, who was sanctified, who gained a good report, who was right blessed, in whose footsteps may I be found when I shall attain to God, who in every epistle makes mention of you in Christ Jesus.” It is clear that Ignatius possesses a Pauline letter collection which would have been composed of at least the Pauline letters that expressly mention the Ephesian church, namely 1 Corinthians, Ephesians, and 1 and 2 Timothy. But some have suggested that we need not take Ignatius’s statement as an indication that he possessed only these four letters—his language may simply indicate that he remembered (or prayed for) the Ephesians even as he wrote other letters, or his language might simply be “a polite exaggeration.” The fact that Ignatius also appears to know Romans, Philippians and Galatians suggests his Pauline letter collection might have been quite extensive. Regardless, the key point is that Ignatius not only has a Pauline letter collection, but mentions it to the Ephesian church with full expectation that they are also aware of it. The fact that Ignatius does not introduce, defend, or elaborate on Paul’s collection suggests that it is well known not only to Ignatius himself but also to his audience.
As for the authority Ignatius attached to the Pauline letters, the citation above already indicates that he had a high view of Paul’s office, describing him as one “blessed in whose footsteps may I be found.” Elsewhere, Ignatius acknowledges the full apostolic authority of Paul (and other apostles) and views it as categorically different from his own: “I am not enjoining [commanding] you as Peter and Paul did. They were apostles, I am condemned.” And again he says, “I have not thought that I, a condemned man, should give you orders like an apostle.” Throughout his writings, Ignatius offers repeated and overt references to the absolute and unparalleled authority of the apostles. Hill draws the natural implications from such a fact when he notes that any apostolic texts known by Ignatius would have “held an extremely if not supremely high standing with him.” Similarly, Robert Grant argues that Ignatius regarded apostolic doctrine as supreme and “it makes little difference to him whether the doctrine has been transmitted in oral or in written form.” Thus, whether or not Ignatius explicitly uses the term “Scripture” in reference to Paul’s letters is beside the point—his opinion of apostolic texts would have already been clear to the reader.
But, Ignatius did not receive apostolic instruction only from Paul. At numerous points he exhorts his readers to follow the “decrees” (δόγμασιν) and “ordinances” (διαταγμάτων) of the apostles. The fact that he uses the plural “apostles” suggests that he is thinking of a larger deposit of apostolic material beyond Paul, perhaps including Peter, John and others. But what is the source of this apostolic instruction now that the apostles themselves are gone? Certainly it is possible that he is just referring to the oral tradition circulating around the churches during this time period. However, several considerations suggest that Ignatius may be referring to written apostolic instruction: (1) Ignatius and his audience already viewed apostolic “decrees” as something that existed in written form because they knew and used Paul’s letters. Thus, it would be natural for them to understand these “decrees” and “ordinances” as referring to written texts. (2) The terms “decrees” (δόγμασιν) and “ordinances” (διαταγμάτων) were often used during this time period to refer to written texts, and even to the Old Testament itself. (3) When Ignatius exhorts the churches to follow the decrees of the apostles, sometimes he is specific about which apostles he is referring to; for example, in Rom 4.3 he mentions that the churches have received commands from both Paul and Peter. But if Ignatius’s audience is able to distinguish between Paul’s commands and Peter’s commands, then this suggests that some of their apostolic sources have Paul’s name attached, and others have Peter’s name attached. A natural explanation of this phenomenon is that they possessed distinctive written documents, some attributed to Peter and others to Paul. (4) One of the most overlooked aspects of Ignatius’s exhortations to follow the “decrees” of the apostles is that his exhortations presume (quite naturally) that the recipients have access to the same apostolic teaching he does. This presumption that all these churches have a common, fixed source for apostolic teaching is explained well by the fact that they all possessed the same apostolic documents. (5) Our inclinations are supported by the fact that, according to a number of scholars, Ignatius appears to know other apostolic writings, particularly the Gospels of Matthew and John, and possibly Luke. Michael Goulder and Charles Hill even argue that Ignatius often uses the term “gospel” not to refer to oral preaching as is so often claimed, but as a reference to the written Gospels.
Ignatius, then, not only stands as a witness to the high authority early Christians attributed to the apostles and their teachings—an authority that would be functionally indistinguishable from Scripture—but also demonstrates that Christians were using written documents as a source for this apostolic teaching. And these written documents are many of the same written documents found in our New Testament: 1 Corinthians, Ephesians, 1 and 2 Timothy (possibly Romans, Philippians and Galatians), Matthew and John (and possibly Luke). Of course, we should remember that this does not mean that Ignatius was unaware of other New Testament documents (he may have known and used more than these), but it simply means that the extant writings of Ignatius give no indication either way.
Polycarp. Polycarp was a central figure in the earliest stages of Christianity. Not only was he the bishop of Smyrna at the turn of the century, but he apparently knew the apostle John personally. Moreover, he was said to have been a companion of Papias and also the teacher/mentor of Irenaeus himself. It is no surprise, then, that Polycarp is aware of apostolic writings and values them highly. He mentions Paul several times, acknowledges that he is an apostle, and distinguishes Paul’s authority from his own authority as a bishop: “For neither I nor anyone like me is able to replicate the wisdom of the blessed and glorious Paul.” Moreover, he is aware of a Pauline letter collection and exhorts his audience to read Paul’s letters: “If you carefully peer into them, you will be able to be built up in the faith that was given to you.” Although Polycarp does not indicate the precise scope of his Pauline letter collection, we can achieve a broad outline of it by observing which letters he cites/uses. Scholars generally agree that Polycarp knew Romans, 1 Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, and 1 and 2 Timothy. Again, Polycarp may have known more letters of Paul than these, but he simply doesn’t use them in his letter to the Philippians.
As for the authority that Polycarp attributes to Paul’s letters, we should not forget the way Polycarp shows honor to Paul as an apostle—and acknowledges that Paul’s apostolic authority is notably different from his own authority as a bishop. In fact, in Phil. 6.3 Polycarp places the “apostles” alongside the “prophets” as equal authorities, showing that he sees revelation as delivered in two distinct epochs. Denis Farkasfalvy observes that this prophet-apostle structure in Polycarp—what he calls a theology of the “proto-Canon”—is also well attested throughout other early Christian texts, including New Testament books, the apostolic fathers, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Tertullian and others. According to Werner Kümmel, such language in Polycarp, and other early Christian texts, constitutes the “first steps in the direction of a new Scripture.”
But, beyond even this, we have indications that Polycarp regarded Pauline letters as “Scripture.” Writing circa A.D. 110, Polycarp appears to cite Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, “As it is written in these Scriptures, ‘Be angry and do not sin and do not let the sun go down on your anger.’” Although the first part of this quote could come from Psalm 4:4, the two parts together come from Ephesians 4:26. Even though Paul Benecke, in the original Oxford study of the apostolic fathers, affirmed that “the collocation of the two passages in Polycarp is almost certainly due to Ephesians,” other scholars have resisted this conclusion. L. Michael White suggests that Polycarp is only using “Scripture” to refer to the first half of the quote (from Psalms) and not the second half. But there is no indication in the text that Polycarp treats the two halves of the quote any differently—“Scripture” applies to them both equally. Helmut Koester attempts to explain the citation by arguing that Polycarp simply made a mistake and erroneously believed that the entire phrase in Ephesians 4:26 came from Psalm 4:4. However, the argument that Polycarp made a mistake is pure conjecture and ignores the fact that Polycarp has a “very good memory” when it comes to Pauline citations. For this reason, Boudewijn Dehandschutter considers such a mistake by Polycarp to be “very unlikely” and argues that “The real reason for Köster’s reservation seems to be the implications for the history of the Canon.” Even Lee McDonald agrees that Polycarp calls Ephesians “Scripture.” If so, then we have good reasons to think that Polycarp would have regarded other Pauline letters as Scripture. Why would they bear a different level of authority than Ephesians? Indeed, Nielsen argues that Polycarp’s letter is a strong indication that by the early second century “a sacred Christian Scripture was emerging with the Pauline corpus as its foundation.”
In addition to Paul’s epistles, most scholars agree that Polycarp also knew 1 Peter and 1 John, suggesting that he was familiar with a corpus of writings from a number of different apostles. Given the high authority that Polycarp grants to the apostles (as noted above), it is reasonable to think that letters from Peter and John would bear the same authority as letters from Paul. As for whether Polycarp used the canonical Gospels, the evidence is less clear. However, he does appear to quote from some of the Synoptic Gospels on a number of occasions. Benecke even concedes that when it comes to the Lord’s prayer (Mt 26:41; Mk 14:38; Phil. 7.2), Polycarp’s citation “agrees verbatim with Matthew and Mark, and appears in a very similar context to that in the Gospels.” The fact that Polycarp appears to be aware of the flow and context of the canonical Gospels, instead of just an isolated saying, has led even Koester to admit that Polycarp seems to know these Synoptic passages. Berding also regards it as “almost certain” that Polycarp is citing the Gospel of Matthew here. Although Polycarp does not cite John’s Gospel directly, Charles E. Hill has made a compelling case that he knew it—particularly given that fact that he knew 1 John and the apostle John himself. However, scholars who are committed to the more stringent methodological guidelines mentioned above are reticent to affirm that Polycarp used any of these Gospels. After all, it is argued, we cannot be absolutely certain that Polycarp was using the canonical Gospels and not, say, oral tradition. While this is certainly true, it once again raises questions about whether absolute certainty is the most reasonable goal for historical study, particularly given all the contextual factors (Polycarp was an influential bishop who knew Papias and the apostle John himself), which suggest there was a high likelihood that Polycarp would have had access to these Gospels as sources for the teachings of Jesus.
1 Clement. Written at the end of the first century (ca. 96), 1 Clement is one of the oldest Christian writings apart from the New Testament. And even at this very early stage, the author relies heavily on a number of Paul’s letters. At a minimum, scholars are agreed that 1 Clement certainly uses 1 Corinthians, Romans and Hebrews, and a number of scholars find it probable that he also knew Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians and Titus. Donald Hagner even argues that Clement knew nearly all of Paul’s letters except 1 and 2 Thessalonians and Philemon. Regardless, Clement possesses some sort of collection of Paul’s letters, though the exact number is unclear. Moreover, he uses these letters quite naturally and clearly expects that his audience also has access to the very same ones.
In terms of the authority that Clement attributes to Paul’s letters, we must again note the authority he attributes to the apostles. “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, he refers to the apostles as “the greatest and most righteous pillars of the Church.” Such statements leave little doubt that he would have regarded apostolic writings as possessing the very authority of Christ himself. For this reason he exhorts his audience to read Paul’s letters: “Take up (Ἀναλάβετε) the epistle of that blessed apostle, Paul. . . . To be sure, he sent you a letter in the Spirit (πνευματικῶς) concerning himself and Cephas and Apollos.” It is noteworthy that Clement bolsters the authority of Paul here by not only referring to him as “blessed” but also by expressly stating that Paul wrote “in the Spirit” (πνευματικῶς). Kirsopp Lake understood this language to mean that Paul wrote “with true inspiration,” and Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson understood it to mean that Paul wrote “under the inspiration of the Spirit.” While it is possible that such language in the apostolic fathers can refer simply to ecclesiastical authority, it is normally used to refer to a level of inspiration that is on par with Scripture. Given that the author of 1 Clement elsewhere makes a sharp distinction between his own authority and that of the apostles (see above), it seems reasonable to think that the latter use is in view here.
In addition, Hengel has argued that when Clement exhorts his audience to “take up” (Ἀναλάβετε) the letters of Paul, he is most likely referring to public reading in a worship setting. Such a practice would fit quite well with Paul’s own commands that his letters be ready publicly to the church (Col 4:16; 1 Thess 5:27; compare 2 Cor 10:9). For a book to be used in such a liturgical fashion was no doubt an indication of its high authority—that was something typically reserved for books that were regarded as Scripture (Lk 4:17-20; Acts 13:15; 15:21). In fact, as we noted above, Justin Martyr informs us that the Gospels were read publicly alongside Old Testament books in worship, a clear indication that they were scriptural documents. If Clement did intend for Paul’s letters to be read publicly in worship, then this would be additional evidence that he regarded them as having an authority on par with Scripture.
Hagner also argues that it was very likely that Clement also knew 1 Peter, James and Acts. Inasmuch as Clement regarded any of these writings as apostolic (and we do not know whether he did), then we would expect they would bear the same authority as Paul’s letters. This would be particularly likely in the case of 1 Peter because Clement clearly knows Peter is an apostle and places him alongside Paul as “a righteous pillar of the church.”
The New Testament. Leaving the world of the apostolic fathers, we consider some critical pieces of evidence from the New Testament itself. One of the earliest examples of New Testament books regarded as Scripture comes from 2 Peter 3:16, in which Paul’s letters are regarded as on par with the τὰς λοιπὰς γραφὰς (“the other Scriptures”) of the Old Testament. In a fashion quite similar to Ignatius, Polycarp and 1 Clement, this passage refers not just to a single letter of Paul, but to some sort of collection or corpus of letters (the precise number is unclear) that the author presumes his audience is familiar with. On the basis of this passage, David Meade concludes that 2 Peter “clearly articulates a doctrine of ‘other,’ that is, Christian, scripture, which represents a significant milestone in Christian thought.” Meade even argues that the author of 2 Peter includes Petrine texts within this category of Christian Scripture by referring to Paul as “our (ἡμῶν) beloved brother” (2 Pet 3:15), a likely reference to the “college” of apostles in which Peter certainly participates (compare 2 Pet 1:16).
Although some critical scholars have argued for a mid-second-century date for 2 Peter, there is little evidence to support such a late date. For scholars who hold to the pseudonymity of 2 Peter, the epistle has generally been dated to the turn of the century (ca. 100–125), and some have suggested an earlier time of A.D. 80–90. Regardless of the position one takes on 2 Peter’s authorship, this epistle provides additional evidence that Paul’s letters were regarded as Scripture by the turn of the century.
Another passage worthy of consideration is 1 Timothy 5:18: λέγει γὰρ ἡ γραφή, Βοῦν ἀλοῶντα οὐ φιμώσεις, καὶ, Ἄξιος ὁ ἐργάτης τοῦ μισθοῦ αὐτοῦ (“For the Scripture says, ‘You shall not muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain,’ and ‘The laborer deserves his wages.’”). The first citation comes from Deuteronomy 25:4, and the second is identical to a saying of Jesus from Luke 10:7. Of course, there is no way to be sure that 1 Timothy is citing Luke’s Gospel in this passage. But the following should be taken into consideration: (1) This citation cannot be explained by appealing to oral tradition because it is clearly referred to as ἡ γραφή. Marshall notes, “A written source is surely required, and one that would have been authoritative.” (2) While another written source is a possibility (such as Q or an apocryphal gospel) it should be noted that the Greek text in 1 Timothy 5:18 is identical to Luke 10:7 (and only to Luke 10:7). Thus, Luke’s Gospel fits the evidence in two critical ways: not only does its wording form an exact match with 1 Timothy 5:18, but it is a book that early Christians (at some point) actually regarded as “Scripture.” We have no historical evidence that either of these things is true for Q or a hypothetical apocryphal gospel. (3) The known historical connections between Paul and Luke at least provide a plausible scenario for why a Pauline letter would cite Luke’s Gospel. In addition to being Paul’s traveling companion throughout the book of Acts, Luke is mentioned a number of times in other Pauline letters (Col 4:14; 2 Tim 4:11; Philem 1:24) and clearly has direct connections to the apostolic circle (Lk 1:2). Moreover, there is a regular connection between Paul and Luke’s Gospel in the writings of the early church fathers. Some have even suggested that Luke was Paul’s amanuensis for 1 Timothy.
All of these considerations, especially taken in tandem, suggest that historical probabilities ought to weigh in favor of 1 Timothy 5:18 citing Luke’s Gospel. John Meier is even more confident: “The only interpretation that avoids contorted intellectual acrobatics or special pleading is the plain, obvious one. [1 Timothy] is citing Luke’s Gospel alongside Deuteronomy as normative Scripture for the ordering of the church’s ministry.” If so, then this suggests that Luke’s Gospel was regarded as Scripture (at least by some) by the turn of the century, depending on when one dates 1 Timothy. But even if one wishes to maintain skepticism about the source of the citation in 1 Timothy 5:18, it should still be acknowledged that 1 Timothy at least regards some book (and one which contains a known saying of Jesus) to be Scripture alongside the Old Testament. That fact alone should reshape our understanding of when Christians began to consider their own books “Scripture.” For this reason, Meade considers 1 Timothy 5:18 to be evidence of an early “canon consciousness.”
Conclusion
The question we have been asking in this chapter is a simple one. At what point did Christians consider their own books to be “Scripture”? Was this a late-second-century phenomenon largely due to the influence of Irenaeus, as some scholars suggest? The historical evidence surveyed here suggests a very different picture than the one that is typically presented. Not only do others in Irenaeus’s own time period already receive many of the New Testament books as Scripture (for example, Muratorian Fragment, Clement of Alexandria, Theophilus of Antioch), but this trend can be traced even further back into the second century. Justin Martyr appears to know the four canonical Gospels and indicates that they were used as Scripture in worship alongside the Old Testament during his day. In addition, Papias, Barnabas, Ignatius, Polycarp, 1 Clement, 2 Peter, and 1 Timothy also seem to regard a number of Christian writings as Scripture. They often refer to them expressly as “Scripture” (sometimes introducing them with “it is written”) or regard them as possessing apostolic authority—which, functionally, would be on par with the authority of Scripture. While the boundaries of the church’s Scriptures during this early time were still fairly fluid (and would not be resolved for centuries), there seems to be little doubt that the church did, in fact, have Scriptures.
It should also be noted that most of the evidence above cannot be explained away simply by appealing to oral tradition. For one, many of the above citations can only be explained on the basis of a written source (for example, Barnabas introduced an apparent quote from Mt 22:14 with “it is written”). But, even more than this, much of the evidence we have examined does not consist of citations at all. Rather it consists of an author simply referring to, or mentioning, New Testament books and their role in the life of the church. For instance, Papias defends Mark and Matthew (but does not cite them); Ignatius refers to “every epistle” of the blessed Paul; and 2 Peter 3:16 refers to “all his [Paul’s] letters.” One should also not forget that the evidence above is not just from a single church father, but from a variety of sources spread over a number of different regions. While any individual piece of evidence might be contested or questioned, it is the extent of the evidence that proves to be the compelling factor.
If we are correct that Christians began to view their books as Scripture much earlier than Irenaeus—perhaps even by the turn of the century—then this provides noteworthy confirmation of the arguments we have been making throughout this volume. We have argued that canon was not a late ecclesiastical development but was something that would have grown naturally and innately out of the earliest Christian movement. Moreover, we argued that even the authors of the New Testament appeared to have some awareness that they were writing Scripture. All of these factors together serve to challenge the “big bang” theory of canon that argues that the canon was forcibly planted within the soil of the church by later ecclesiastical powers (whether Irenaeus or others) who were keen to refute the heresies of their day. Instead, the evidence we have seen here suggests the canon began more like a seed that was present in the soil of the church from the very beginning, growing gradually and consistently over time.