Conclusion
Conclusion
Normal science . . . tends to discover what it expects to discover.
IAN HACKING
preface, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions: 50th Anniversary Edition
As we draw our study of canon to a close, the distinctive (and perhaps unexpected) focus of this volume has now become apparent. Rather than addressing the traditional question about the boundaries of the canon—Why these twenty-seven books and no others?—this volume has focused on a deeper and more foundational question. Rather than asking which books, we have been asking whether there should even be books. Why is there a New Testament canon at all? While this question might be less interesting to some, the answer has the potential to change the macro paradigm through which we study the origins of the New Testament. Of course, as we have argued throughout the volume, much of modern biblical scholarship has already answered this question. The canon is viewed by many as a later ecclesiastial production, a creation of the second-, third- or even fourth-century church, which is decidely out of sync with the original nature and purpose of Christianity. The early Christian faith, we are told, despised the written word. And even when Christians did write, they had no intention of writing authoritative Scripture-like books. Thus, the idea of a new canon was imposed on the church by some matrix of external forces, whether it be Marcion’s heresies, Irenaeus’s politics, or Constantine’s imperial influence. We have referred to this whole approach as the extrinsic model of canon (what Meade calls the “pull”) and have argued that it dominates much of modern scholarship.
But dominant positions are not beyond adjustment or correction. It has been the purpose of this volume to offer a well-intended challenge to this extrinsic model. The goal has not been to reject the model in its entirety but to suggest that there were also instrinsic factors at work in the early Christian movement that may have made a new corpus of Scripture a more natural, if not inevitable, development (what Meade calls the “push”). While a volume like this could not address every aspect of the extrinsic model, it has addressed five major tenets that seem to be at its core. These tenets have not been presented as an exhaustive account of the extrinsic model (this model would also hold to many other positions), nor have they been presented as an absolute package (not all adherents to the extrinsic model would hold to each without exception). Nevertheless, these five tenets are commonplace in modern scholarship and often appear together. Let us review these five tenets and our response to each.
The first tenet of the extrinsic model claims that we must make a sharp distinction between “Scripture” and “canon.” For a variety of reasons, many scholars have coalesced around the idea that the terms “Scripture” and “canon” should be sharply distinguished and that the latter can only be used to describe a final, closed list of books to which nothing can be added and nothing taken away. While this definition of canon is not the exclusive property of the extrinsic model (and is used by some who adhere to other models), it is quite popular among those who view the canon as a later ecclesiastical creation. And the reason for this is not hard to find. This definition insists that this thing we call a “canon” did not, and could not, exist prior to the formal actions of the fourth-century church that restricted and limited which books are acceptable. In other words, this definition not only places the canon at a later date, but also gives the impression that the canon is the result of “a great and meritorious act of the church.” In response, we affirmed that this exclusive definition of canon does have some positives. It rightly recognizes that the canon was a long and drawn-out process, and that a general consesus on the boundaries was not fully realized until the fourth century. However, it does not give due appreciation to the fact that even by the second century most of the New Testament books were already seen as fully authoritative. Thus, we argued that the exclusive definition of canon is best rounded out by the functional and ontological definitions. These three definitions, working in a mutually complementary fashion, provide the most balanced approach to our understanding of the term canon.
The second tenet of the extrinsic model is that there was nothing in earliest Christianity that might have led to a canon. If the canon is a later ecclesiastical idea, then the corollary of this approach is that no one in the earliest stages of the faith would have conceived of it. The idea of a new corpus of books was the furthest thing from their minds. Thus, we are told, there was “nothing dictated that there should be a NT.” While we would certainly agree that the earliest Christians could not have anticipated the shape and content of a new corpus of books, that is not the same as suggesting that there was nothing that might have naturally led to a new corpus of books. In chapter two we argued that there was a matrix of theological beliefs held by early Christians out of which a canon might have developed quite naturally. The earliest believers viewed the work of Christ as the great eschatologial redemption that God promised in the Old Testament by which Israel would be made new. And, as Meade has argued, “[a] ‘New Israel’ . . . will require new Scriptures.” In addition, the earliest Christians conceived of the work of Christ as the inauguration of a new covenant. The close association between covenants and written texts allowed Delbert Hillers to argue that when it comes to biblical covenants, “there is a written document in connection with it, the familiar ‘text of the covenant.’” Last, early Christians had a high view of the apostolic office, viewing the apostles as the very mouthpiece of Christ himself. Thus any document containing apostolic teaching would have been received as an authoritative written text (and the beginning of a canon). Regardless of whether these early Christian beliefs were in fact true (and that is not the issue we are addressing in this volume), they would have, especially taken in tandem, created the ideal environment for a new canon to emerge.
The third tenet of the extrinsic model insists that early Christians were averse to written documents. One of the primary reasons that scholars suggest that the canon had to be a later ecclesiastical development is that the earliest Christians were illiterate and uninterested in books. Oral tradition, we are told, was the preferred mode of transmission for the infant church, and written texts were seen with suspicion and skepticism. While we would certainly agree that the earliest Christians were largely illiterate, and that Christian teaching was passed along in oral form, we argued in chapter three that neither of these things necessitates the belief that Christians were averse to written texts. On the contrary, we argued that early Christianity was characterized by a robust textuality—the knowledge, use and appreciation of written texts—even though most could not read. Oral and written modes of communications were not mutually exclusive; neither were they hostile to one another. Instead, they often interfaced in a symbiotic and mutally reinforcing manner. Moreover, when we examine the remnants of the earliest Christian literary culture, we see that Christians not only wrote at a very early point but also exhibited a rather developed and sophisticated book technology, as evidenced by scribal handwriting, the use of the nomina sacra, and the widespread adoption of the codex. All of these factors suggest that the development of a new corpus of sacred writings would not have been out of sync with the nature of early Christianity.
The fourth tenet of the extrinsic model claims that the New Testament authors were unaware of their own authority. Perhaps one of the most common (and unquestioned) assertions made by modern scholars is that the New Testament authors did not conceive of themselves as producing authoritative texts—they were merely producing occasional documents that were only later regarded as Scripture. Indeed, such a claim is critical for establishing the canon as an artificial ecclesiastical creation that was at odds with the original purpose of the New Testament authors. However, we argued in chapter four that there are a number of New Testament passages that indicate the authors were quite aware that their books bore apostolic authority, and thereby the very authority of Christ himself. Paul states this apostolic authority quite plainly: “If anyone thinks that he is a prophet, or spiritual, he should acknowledge that the things I am writing to you are a command of the Lord” (1 Cor 14:37-38). Other authors claim this authority more indirectly by purporting to pass down authentic apostolic content (Lk 1:2; Heb 2:3). It does not matter whether these authors referred to their own books with the term “Scripture.” That is beside the point. What matters is that these authors viewed their writings as apostolic. And if these writings were apostolic, then they bore the highest authority a book could bear—an authority functionally equivalent to Scripture.
The fifth and final tenet of the extrinsic model that we discussed in this volume is that the New Testament books were first regarded as Scripture at the end of the second century. If Christians could never have conceived of a canon, were opposed to the written medium, and did not think of themselves (even when they did write) as penning authoritative books, then we would expect that it would have taken a while for the New Testament writings to attain a scriptural status. It is here that we come to the key issue of the canon’s date. Many advocates of the extrinsic model argue that Christian writings were not regarded as Scripture until the end of the second century, most likely due to the influence of Irenaeus, who imposed his innovative ideas upon the church. Although it is certainly true that the end of the second century is the time when the contours of the emerging canon can be seen with more clarity, in chapter five we argued that such a canon could not have popped into existence overnight. It must have roots that extend even further back into the second century—particulary given the fact that Irenaeus was not the only one who had a scriptural collection during this time period. An examination of Justin Martyr, the apostolic fathers and even the New Testament writings themselves indicated that some New Testament writings were viewed as Scripture quite early, even in the first half of the second century. This does not suggest, of course, that there was unity over the boundaries of the New Testament canon by this point. Disagreements over books were not unusual. But, it does suggest that there was a core collection of scriptural books in place from a very early time.
If these five tenets of the extrinsic model really do prove to be problematic, as this volume has argued, then we can begin to consider some implications this might have for modern canonical studies. First, it serves as a simple reminder that historical investigations, like scientific ones, often operate on the basis of models, or what we might call paradigms. Although we like to convince ourselves as historians that we are inherently neutral in our investigations, only collecting the bare facts, the truth of the matter is that we often conduct our investigations on the basis of a predetermined framework. We look at our data through the lens of what we already believe to be true. Ian Hacking has observed this same trend in the scientific community: “Normal science . . . tends to discover what it expects to discover.” Now, there is nothing particularly scandalous about this—everyone does (and must) look at the evidence through some lens. The proper response to this reality is not to feign neutrality, but to be willing to acknowlege our model and, more importantly, be willing to question it.
A second implication of this study, and perhaps the most obvious, is that there are enough problems with the extrinsic model to raise serious questions about its viability. This is particularly noteworthy given that a number of the tenets of this model are arguably “consensus” positions within the modern academy. But, as already noted, consensus positions are not necessarily correct simply because they are held by a majority of scholars. Sometimes the dominant model needs to be questioned, or at least tweaked, in order for progress to be made in that field of study. And scholars have to be open to this questioning. Although the extrinsic model is correct about a great many things (as has been acknowledged throughout this volume), its core conviction—that the canon is a later ecclesiastical creation contrary to Christianity’s original nature—does not prove to be persuasive in the end.
A third and final implication of this study is that more scholarly consideration should be given to what we have called the intrinsic model. Although our purpose here has not been to prove the intrinsic model (simply critiquing the extrinsic model is not sufficient to do this), this study has at least paved the way for the intrinsic model to be given a fresh look. No doubt some scholars have avoided the intrinsic model due to the mistaken belief that it entails some theological commitments to doctrines such as inspiration, or to the special authority of the New Testament books. But, as noted in the introduction, the intrinsic model, at its core, requires no such commitment. The intrinsic model is a historical model, designed to explain how and when the New Testament canon emerged within the early Christian religion. It simply argues that the phenomenon of canon was one that arose early and naturally within the first few stages of Christianity. Indeed, the later church played a key role in shaping and influencing the contours of the canon, and no doubt various “heretical” movements would have also played a part in the canon’s development. But the intrinsic model argues that the idea of canon was built into the DNA of the Christian religion and thus emerged quite naturally. In this sense, the canon was like a seedling sprouting from the soil of early Christianity—although it was not fully a tree until the fourth century, it was there, in nuce, from the beginning.