Textual Criticism is concerned with the comparison
of various witnesses to the early text of a document and has as its goal
the establishment of its earliest form.
Literary criticism is concerned with the comparison of various literary forms
and materials and has as its goal the literary analysis of a document in
order to ascertain the way or ways in which its author expressed his thought.
Historical criticism, to which we now turn, is concerned with the time/place
setting of a document, its sources, events discussed in or implied by the
document.
Historical criticism builds on textual and literary criticism, and its end
product is the writing of history, a narrative that reports events in a sequence
roughly chronological.
Chronological sequence is the skeleton of history.
Without it there can be
no historical narrative, and no interpretation of casual relationships; for
while what is prior is not necessarily the, or a, cause of what is posterior,
that which is posterior can never be the, or a, cause of what is prior.
For
this reason those who criticize the search for "what actually happened"
as the study of "mere events" and the results as "nothing but chronicle"
are mistaken.
Without chronicle history cannot be written.
Even the analysis
of the past in relation to social, political, economic, philosophical or
theological theory has to be based on a chronological sequence.
Moreover, while it may be held that the record of events provides us with
a skeleton and perhaps even a body, but not with a soul or spirit, it must
be remembered that a soul or spirit needs the clothing of body if it is to
act historically.
History is more than the history of ideas.
While the sciences
of tactics, strategy and logistics are obviously important in interpreting
military or naval history, the history of warfare is not just the history
of theory.
It must be concerned with wars, campaigns and battles in which
real men actually made decisions and acted upon them.
Similarly, economic
and social factors are undoubtedly significant;
but historical events cannot
be understood solely in relation to them.
The Roman Empire was the creation
not of factors alone but of Julius Caesar and Augustus.
Christianity arose
not simply because of Jewish apocalypticism and Hellenistic piety
but because
of the work of Jesus Christ and his apostles.
Before discussing the kinds
of materials, which the historical critic uses,
we should say something about
what he can expect to learn from them.
He can expect to find out a great
deal about significant public events, especially battles, murders and sudden
deaths.
He can find out about institutions and their organization.
What he cannot find out, unless the materials happen to mention it, is any
account of what a private person did at a particular time and in a particular
place.
To obtain this information he must rely upon accounts written
by or about such a private person.
No amount of inference, however plausible,
can lead him to a fact about this person, for this person's motives and
actions are unique and cannot be reconstructed hypothetically.
It is, of
course, possible that the person himself or a later writer describing him,
has misinterpreted his motives or incorrectly described his actions;
but
existing accounts, whatever their quality, must be given preference over
the historian's hypothetical reconstructions.
(We shall later consider the
problem that arises when the accounts disagree with one another.)
It should also be said that all the materials that the historian uses are
modern.
That is to say, they exist now. If they did not exist now, he obviously could
not use them.
Some interpreters of history, or of the writing of history,
have therefore argued that the historian's work is strictly contemporary.
He uses his materials in order to create a picture, which has modern significance.
And because he is influenced by his own religious, psychological, social
and economic situation - often in ways he does not recognize - he is not,
and should not try to be, a discoverer or recoverer of "what actually happened".
What happened cannot be recovered.
No doubt this argument possesses some
validity.
Absolute "objectivity" is not an attainable goal.
At the same time,
a historian who tries to write history rather than propaganda will not be
content to impose his own will on the materials with which he deals.
He will
enter into a conversation with the materials from the past, a conversation
in the course of which he will expect to learn something, not simply to engage
in a monologue.
Such a historian will recognize some of his own limitations
as well as the limitations of his method and his materials, and he will try
to maintain a scrupulous honesty in the face of data that do not correspond
with his preconceptions.
There are various kinds of data with which the historian is concerned.
(1) There are archaeological data, some of
them non-literary (buildings, artifacts, etc.), others literary (inscriptions,
papyri), still others "mixed" (coins, medals, etc.).
Those, which are literary
or semi-literary in nature, must be examined critically.
Not every official
inscription conveys the whole truth about the events to which it is related;
the inscriptions that express the joy of subject populations in celebrating
the emperor's birthday provide an example.
Even a private letter, preserved
on papyrus by chance, does not necessarily present a complete account of
the events mentioned in it.
(2) There are also non-archaeological data,
materials that we know because they have been copied and recopied in the
course of their transmission.
These data usually consist of the literary
productions of poets, philosophers, historians, and - for that matter - evangelists.
In addition, there are literary or semi-literary documents such as letters;
the originals of the Pauline epistles have been lost, but we know the epistles
from copies of copies.
In dealing with these data there are several distinctions that can be made,
and the historian must deal critically not only with the materials but also
with the distinctions.
top
All data have relevance in relation to some situation or other.
(1) All data are contemporaneous with the time in which they were written.
Thus a letter written in the year 50 is obviously significant for our synthesis
of events in that year;
in addition, a historical narrative, describing
events in the year 10 but written in the year 50, is also significant for
50 because it reflects the interests of that year.
For this reason the
gospels are important witnesses to the life of the church in the time in
which they were written, as well as to the life of Jesus which the evangelists
endeavour to describe.
The importance of this contemporaneousness should
not, however, be exaggerated, since - as we have already argued - historical
writers do not simply reflect the concerns of their contemporaries (including
themselves), but enter into a dialogue with the past.
(2) Moreover, all data, to a greater or a lesser degree, provide evidence
for the time before they were written, since their creators did not create ex
nihilo.
Their language is not their own;
many of their ideas are
not their own but come from previous generations.
In historical writing the
historian?s testimony is more significant in relation to an earlier time
than in relation to his own.
Thus, though it is sometimes said that the gospels
provide us with evidence from the time when they were written rather than
with sources dealing with an earlier period, such a statement can easily
mislead the unwary.
The evangelists did, indeed, testify to the meaning of
Jesus in relation to their own times;
but it was Jesus with whose meaning
they were concerned.
They and their informants were dealing with materials,
which had been remembered, not invented.
To be sure, the locus of remembering
is always in the present, but the locus of what is remembered is in the past.
The early Church included individuals who not only proclaimed the gospel
but also remembered who the Jesus was whose life, death and resurrection
were being proclaimed.
The apostle Paul was quite capable of differentiating
a "commandment of the Lord" from his own interpretation of it (I Cor.7.10,
12).
The fact that man has a memory means that he is not simply contemporaneous
or "modern".
At the same time, memory plays tricks.
In analysing reports based on memory,
therefore, some measure of precedence must be given to accounts written soon
after the events and based on the reports of eyewitnesses.
On the other hand, we must remember that as critical analysts we may doubt
the accuracy of the witness's record but we cannot substitute our own conjectures
for what he has reported.
If there are two or more conflicting accounts,
we can indicate which of them is to be regarded as the more trustworthy and
try to explain how the other or others arose.
If there is only one, we cannot
invent an alternative account, since historical events are not precisely
predictable.
All we can do when we have a single, seemingly unreliable narrative,
is to indicate why we reject it and admit our ignorance as to what actually
happened - if we think anything did happen.
Sometimes a distinction between "primary" and "secondary" materials is
used in order to make choices between differing accounts of the same, or
similar, events.
For example, the accounts of Paul's career to be found in
his own letter to the Galatians and in the later book of Acts are not altogether
in concord.
Should we then claim that his letter is a "primary" source of
information, Acts a "secondary" one?
It is most unlikely that history can
be analysed so neatly.
More probably, Paul writes from one standpoint, the
author of Acts from another;
neither account deserves absolute confidence
to the exclusion of the other.
The task of the historian is to compare similarities
and differences and to try to construct an inclusive account, which will
do justice to both points of view.
Furthermore, though Paul was obviously
an eye-witness and Luke (as far as early events are concerned) was probably
not one, it must be recalled that documents later in time (Acts) can be based
on materials as early as, or earlier than, documents produced by eye-witnesses.
These points mean that no absolute distinction can be drawn between "primary"
and "secondary", at least without careful critical analysis.
top
Another common distinction is that made between "fact" and "interpretation".
Essentially a fact is something that is, or could be, recognizable by all
the possible witnesses to an occurrence.
Thus it is a fact that Jesus was
crucified.
An interpretation, on the other hand, is essentially that of
an individual or a group;
it varies from individual to individual or from group to group.
Caiaphas,
Judas, Pontius Pilate and the apostles interpreted the crucifixion of Jesus
in differing ways.
Therefore, it is sometimes held, the historians will deal with the fact after
separating the various interpretations from it.
To make such a separation is very difficult, for facts are almost always
remembered,
and accounts of them are transmitted, because they seemed meaningful both
at the time the events occurred and in the period immediately afterwards.
In addition, the analyst is trying to deal with the subjective interpretation(s)
provided by an ancient author - as well as with the interpretation(s) provided
by that author's source(s) - on the basis of his own judgement.
Suppose that
the analyst can show that the author had a particular axe to grind.
It will
be hard to show that this axe was different from the axes of earlier witnesses,
or that it (or they) necessarily distorted the impression(s) that the original
event made on the minds of eyewitnesses at the time.
The summaries that Luke
gives in the first half of Acts, for example, are his own, but they may accurately
reflect the early life of the Jerusalem church.
Only when two or more sources of information are available can the analyst
definitely show that a subjective judgement has provided a mistaken interpretation
- or when, for example, a summary contradicts or distorts the materials being
summarized.
Before claiming that contradiction or distortion exists, however,
the analyst must be sure that the summary is not based upon materials that
the author did not reproduce.
If it is based upon such materials, or if it
may have been based on them, it is obviously not the product of the author's
imagination alone.
If it can be shown that one document, actually in existence, is a source
of another existing document (as when Mark is employed by Luke), the analyst
can proceed to show how the later writer has modified the materials he employs.
Two warnings, however, need to be given at this point.
Sometimes just such an analysis is used in order to get back to the original
form of a tradition or, in other words, to get close to the events or facts
by tracing lines of interpretation from the known back into the unknown.
Put rather crudely, this use of the theory of development can be expressed
geometrically.
We assume that we know points D and E on a particular line
of tradition;
we can assess the distance between D and E and also the direction
DE.
Then in theory, we can proceed to reconstruct the line (ABC)DE, and even
the distances A, BC, and CD.
Unfortunately the course of human events, like
that of true love, does not run so smoothly.
The idea of development seems
to have come from biology, where it is used in reference to the process of
evolution from a previous and lower (e.g., embryonic) stage to a later, more
complex or more perfect one;
this development can involve differentiation
into individual organisms and their subsequent histories.
[For this definition see The American College Dictionary (New
York, 1947), 331.]
Development involves continuity among the various stages of the organism
that develops.
It is therefore different from change, in which the phenomenon
being considered is distinctly different from what it was.
There is also
alteration, in which there is a partial change and the identity of the phenomenon
is still preserved.
It is the notion of development which best combines the
elements of sameness and difference - together with an emphasis on the growth
of something living.
The basic question, however, is that of the extent to which early Christianity,
for example, actually did develop, and the use of a semi-biological term
may well confuse the issue by implying that the answer is already known.
It may also tend to suggest that there were no radical alterations, or even
changes, in the history of the early Church, or that by "development" is
meant a process which from small beginnings (Jesus) brought great things
(the Church).
Such a notion obviously does not do justice to such revolutionary
events as the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus or the conversion of
Paul.
Whether or not there was development in the early Church, the idea
of development cannot be used as a guide for the reconstruction of its history.
It may serve as a hypothesis;
it is not an analytical instrument.
top
What we have said about development should also be applied to theories about
an original, authentic, pure Christianity, which was later distorted by various
secondary factors.
Such theories have a long history within, and on the edge
of; the Christian Church.
Marcion, for example, held that his disciples,
who modified it severely when they presented it to Jews, distorted the pure
gospel of Jesus;
and similar notions are often latent in the work of modern
scholars.
Since fashions change, the contrasts developed by one generation
often differ from those emphasized by the previous one;
but it can be shown
that underlying a good deal of study supposedly analytical in nature there
is a very simple set of antitheses which are supposed to be self-evident.
In previous times it was customary to contrast Jesus with Paul, or the Jesus
of history with the Christ of faith, or the synoptic gospels with the Fourth
Gospel.
Alternatively, faith or grace could be contrasted with works, moralism,
sacraments, doctrines, and creeds, and the "New Testament teaching" could
be found in Paul but not in James, Matthew, or the synoptic gospels in general.
For a time there were those who believed that the essential "kerygma" could
be emphasized at the expense of the less significant "didache", though the
fairly obvious fact that in early Christianity "gospel" included both preaching
and teaching lessens the force of this contrast.
More recently it has been
fashionable to compare the authentic Hebrew elements in the New Testament
with the less satisfactory elements which can be called "late Jewish" or
"Greek".
The chief difficulty with these antitheses is that they are not historical.
They arise out of the needs of modern writers to pick and choose among the
various elements in the New Testament and Christian synthesis, and when they
are used as instruments of analysis they become substitutes for thought.
They are created by laying emphasis on certain distinctive, or seemingly
distinctive, features in the various documents and by neglecting equally
important resemblances.
A warning can be given if we look at a problem in
Old Testament studies.
A generation ago it was customary to contrast prophetic
with priestly elements.
Now the pendulum has swung again, and it is recognized
that much prophecy arose out of the priesthood and that priests preserved
the writings of prophets.
Similarly, the study of Judaism has led to the
recognition that there were Greek elements in it, and that a sharp separation
of Jewish from Greek ideas is not justifiable.
The world in which Christianity
arose was not characterized by the contrasts, which some scholars have imagined
to exist.
top
A variation on the theme of change is provided by those scholars who insist
that by means of historical analysis it can be shown that Christianity was
originally a movement of apocalyptic expectation within late Judaism;
the
prophet Jesus preached that the reign of God was at hand - but he was wrong.
Several corollaries can then be deduced from this axiom.
Since the movement at first existed within Judaism and only later spread
to the Hellenistic world, features which seem Jewish are authentic while
those which seem Hellenistic are not (see above).
Since it looked only towards
the future, features, which are concerned with past or present, represent
revisions of the original message.
Since the followers of Jesus regarded
him as essentially human, statements about his divine nature or function
have been added to the authentic gospel, often by use of ideas derived from
"mystery religions".
Since God's reign was immediately at hand, Jesus could
not have established a church or appointed ministers for a long period of
time; there were no sacraments in Judaism, therefore references to the Church
or its life are not part of the original teaching of Jesus.
He preached a purely Jewish gospel.
After his death this gospel was changed
in the Hellenistic world.
The essential difficulty with this axiom (and these corollaries) is that
it rests upon a principle of historical analysis that is not tenable.
[On
this principle in gospel criticism see Ch.19.]
The gospel materials
represent Jesus as teaching that the reign of God is not only future but
also somehow present.
They represent his followers as considering him both
human and more than human, whether as "Son of God" or as "Son of Man".
They
represent him as appointing apostles (principally, it must be admitted, for
an immediate mission) and as binding them to himself and his purpose at his
last supper, in which he related his body to the broken bread and his covenant
to the outpoured wine.
The principle employed in dealing with these materials
is that when there is discordant testimony, the evidence to be accepted is
that which conflicts with the main lines of later Christian witness.
(The
principle is therefore analogous with the preference of early textual critics
for the "more difficult reading", whether or not it made sense.)
Such a
principle assumes that as the genuine, "difficult" testimony was being modified
it passed through the hands of half-hearted forgers who while inserting their
own corrections of the tradition somehow felt compelled to retain a few authentic
items, presumably for the benefit of modern analysts.
The transmitters of
tradition were thus "deceivers, yet true" (II Cor.6:8).
But this assumption is not provable.
A more satisfactory assumption, it would
appear, is that the authentic gospel of Jesus is to be recovered by considering
the various, conflicting items of evidence and by attempting to ascertain
what proclamation, perhaps ambiguously expressed, could have been interpreted
in divergent ways.
(Again, this is like a principle of criticism; we look
for the reading that could have resulted in the divergent readings now found
in the manuscripts.)
The original teaching of Jesus is therefore not to be
found by rejecting much of the evidence we possess but by analysing all the
evidence and looking for its source.
Another way of viewing the New Testament is that maintained by the "demythologizers",
but since this method is largely theological rather than historical
(though
it is supposed to have a basis in historical analysis)
we shall consider
it in our chapter on theological interpretation.
top
It is obvious that in speaking of development and change we have come close
to the question of the environment or environments of the New Testament writers.
The study of this area has occupied a great deal of attention in modern times,
before as well as after the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls.
The purpose
of this study has been described as "setting the church in the village"
or, in other words, relating early Christianity to the world in (and in opposition
to) which it arose.
The purpose of environmental study is not so obvious.
In so far as the early Christian gospel was addressed to Jews and/or gentiles
of the first century, it can certainly be understood in a more specific
way if we know something about the first-century world.
On the other hand,
it may be that we shall be tempted to make what was intended generally,
more specific than it actually was when we relate it too closely to the
first century.
We may even develop a theory that whatever Jesus said was
spoken with a specific reference and that any generalizations are the products
of the early Church;
such a theory is, of course, unwarranted by the evidence.
We may also try to determine how much of the village has entered the Church
and its tradition and, in short, to indicate what elements in early Christianity
are shared with (hence, derived from?) its environment and what elements
are unique.
But unless we start with the presupposition that the unique is
the true it is hard to maintain that this kind of analysis can produce meaningful
results.
Does the gospel of Jesus, for example, consist essentially of what
he did not share with his contemporaries?
Are ideas, which he did share with
his contemporaries, necessarily wrong?
To put the matter a little more precisely,
can we speak of an "ancient world view" and thus dismiss it?
To raise these
questions is to suggest that environmental study conducted solely for comparative
purposes leads nowhere.
On the other hand, useful negative conclusions can be reached from the study
of the environment.
It is often said that ancient people accepted a "three-storey
universe";
they were wrong and we are right; therefore whatever they say
about the universe is to be rejected.
Examination of the evidence can indicate
that
Such conclusions,
negative in the face of contemporary scholarly cliche, can be reached
not by reading modern summaries but by looking at the heterogeneous testimonies
given by first-century men.
Instead of making statements about "the ancients"
or "the Jews" or "the Greeks" we must resolutely face the varieties to
be found among individuals, even though the individuals were certainly
conditioned (to some extent) by the groups in which they found themselves.
top
Towards the beginning of this century there was great enthusiasm for the
comparative study of religions.
Scholars, who believed, that when they had
discovered parallels to early Christian expressions, ideas, institutions
or rites in other religions, they had shown that the Christian phenomena
were derived from these other religions.
And also that their meaning within
Christianity was essentially the same as it was within the other religion
or religions.
In addition, some of them believed that theories based on phenomena
in other religions could be applied without alteration to the phenomena of
early Christianity.
Since some Greek myths were "aetiological" (composed
in order to explain the origins of rites), the story of the Last Supper could
be treated as an aetiological myth, intended to explain the origin of the
Christian Eucharist - which actually came from the Hellenistic mystery religions.
Similarly Paul's idea of dying and rising with Christ,
and perhaps the belief
in Christ's resurrection itself,
came from a prior notion about dying and
rising saviour-gods in the Graeco-Roman world.
The notion that baptism meant
rebirth was viewed as pagan in origin,
largely because of the evidence provided
by some inscriptions of the fourth century of the Christian era.
The absurdities to which this kind of study led resulted in its being generally
discredited, although more recently it seems to be flourishing again in different
form.
The more modern view is that everything, or almost everything, in early
Christianity can be explained as derived either
Undoubtedly there are affinities
between early Christianity and the Qumran community, and less significant
ones between early Christianity and Gnosticism.
But in each case the differences
require as much attention as the resemblances do,
and chronological priority,
even when it can be established, does not prove the existence of causal
connection.
Post
hoc is not the same as propter hoc.
Early Christianity certainly deserves to be studied by the historian of
religions, and by other students who use his methods.
But the methods need
to be applied with extreme caution.
Is the student studying the history of
religion in general or the history of specific religions?
More fruitful results
will probably be obtained by respecting the individuality of religions as
of men -
in other words, by emphasizing the word "history".
top
An important aspect of modern New Testament study is the very fact of its
modernity or, rather, its supposed modernity.
It is obvious that some progress
has been made in the course of the last century or so;
few scholars today
would suppose that New Testament history is significantly illuminated by
the use of the terms "thesis, antithesis, synthesis".
But as we have repeatedly
pointed out, other cliche are often employed, no better for their being
more recent.
It is an open question whether or not genuine progress exists
in this area of study.
Certainly new evidence has become available,
and to
the extent that it has been utilized adequately
it can be said that some
advance has taken place.
It should be said, however, that in each generation an adequate or partially
adequate understanding of the New Testament can be achieved only by the abandonment
of the "assured results" of the previous generation and by the fresh creation
of openness to the text and to what it may say.
The historical method must
be employed in dealing with historical critics.
Why, then, should the study be continued, if it has not led, and is not
likely to lead, to any final results?
The answer to this question lies not
in any notion of inevitable progress but in the study itself.
By means of
critical-historical study, properly conducted,
each generation comes to know
the New Testament -
not necessarily more thoroughly than its predecessors
knew it,
but more thoroughly than at the time it began its own work.
Once
more, however, we must avoid speaking of "generations" or groups when we
ought to keep the individual in mind.
The progress of the individual student
can be real though that of his generation may be dubious.
Only he can resolutely
refine his own method and try to keep himself free from the erroneous generalizations
and bad logic, which stand in the way of historical understanding.
[ For an excellent statement about historical method see
Samuel Eliot Morison, By land and by Sea (New York, 1953), 346-59;
reprinted from the American Historical Review 56 (1951), 26-75.]
Above all, the historical analyst must not be ashamed of confessing ignorance
--
not the easy ignorance due to failure to investigate what can be known,
but the hard ignorance due to the real lack of historical records.
No amount
of speculation supposedly historical can fill in the gaps that exist in our
records.
No amount of theory can be a substitute for evidence.
Moreover,
no final explanation can be given, in many instances or perhaps in all, for
historical events of which we have some records.
The "explanations" we provide
of the life of Paul or the life of Jesus still leave us with mysteries that
will never be explained.
top
Thus far we have concentrated our attention upon negative factors practically
to the exclusion of positive ones.
We have almost made it appear that historical
understanding of the New Testament is impossible.
In large measure this result
has come about because of our phenomenological or, one might say, nominalist
approach to the question.
It could easily be charged that we have concentrated
upon the trees and have lost sight of the forest.
As we have been urging
that historical understanding goes beyond literary and textual criticism
in the direction of subjectivity, we have neglected the objectivity, which
is given our study by the existence of what we may call the phenomenon behind
the phenomena.
This phenomenon, more important for historical study than
the isolated data that reflect it, is the existence of the early Church.
Without awareness of the existence of the Church the isolated data remain
isolated.
It is the Church in its empirical, historical existence, which
holds them together and allows us to make sense of them.
Without the Church
the data might mean almost anything.
Indeed, in early Gnostic communities
the data did mean almost anything,
since the Gnostics were not adherents
of the visible Church
and were therefore free to interpret New Testament
texts in a wholeheartedly subjective way.
Only by postulating or, rather,
admitting the existence of the Church can we hold the data together and see
that they reflect the Church's life and thought.
Of course the existence of the Church can be treated as a merely static
hypothesis or fact, and the correlation of the various data can be made on
grounds appropriate to such a static situation.
Such an analysis, like the
atomistic analysis which we have so far advocated,
proceeds on non-historical
lines to discover eternal truths or absolutes which may do justice to some
aspects of the Church's gospel,
but cannot adequately be related to the
variety of outlook present in the New Testament and other early Christian
literature.
Because of this inadequacy it would appear that another approach is likely
to be more fruitful.
This different kind of approach must be one in which
the unity and continuity of the Church's life is recognized but, at the
same time, the diversity characteristic of any historical process (that is
to say, of real events) can be accepted.
To say this means that the New Testament
must be viewed not only as the Church's book but specifically as the early Church's
book.
It is the book that shows how the good news was brought from Galilee
to Jerusalem and to the ends of the Graeco-Roman world.
To illustrate the
change, or development, which accompanied this movement we may cite two texts:
"Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here
who will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God come with power."
"He has granted to us his precious and very great promises,
that through these you may escape from the corruption that is in the world because of passion,
and become partakers of the divine nature."
The first is from the words of Jesus according to Mark;
the second is from II Peter.
Between the two lies a process, whether long or short, in the course of which
the Christian gospel was redirected in order to become more fully comprehensible
to those who lived and thought in the Graeco-Roman world.
The business of historical criticism is to deal with the diverse materials
in the New Testament (and in other early Christian literature)
and to show
In other words, historical study should set forth the elements of continuity and discontinuity in the Church?s life.
There are, of course, other features of the Church's life, in addition
to the question of Hellenization, which deserve attention.
First there is
the nature of the proclamation of Jesus as the Church remembered it. Was
this gospel of the kingdom related
Is there any
difference between the emphasis found in Galilean preaching and that found
at Jerusalem?
Second, there is the critical situation in the church of
Jerusalem as it confronted, or was confronted by, the mission to gentiles.
How was this problem solved - in so far as it was really solved?
Third,
how did the preaching of Paul to gentiles differ from his preaching to
Jews?
To what extent was it the same?
What held the two kinds of preaching
together?
Fourth, how did the misunderstandings of his gospel, as reflected
in his various letters, come into existence?
To what extent did he agree,
to what extent disagree, with his opponents of various kinds?
Fifth, as
members of the Church recorded the common memories of Jesus what did they
continue to hold in common and what did they feel free to modify?
What
(historically) can explain the rather remarkable differences
Sixth, what is the difference, if any,
between New Testament writings and those of the Apostolic Fathers and the
Apologists?
Seventh, what factors caused the Church to regard some or all
of the New Testament books as canonical?
while gradually coming to view
the writings of the Apostolic Fathers (and other books) as extra-canonical?
Such questions as these require historical answers and lead us beyond the
confines of the New Testament as a collection of books to the historical
reality of the life of the early Church to which they bear witness.
The New
Testament points backward to the Old Testament and the old Israel and forward
to other early Christian literature and the later Church;
still more directly,
it points behind or underneath itself to the Christian community in which
and for which it was written.
It remains incomprehensible unless the existence
of this Church is recognized.
It is the Church which both historically and
theologically holds the New Testament together.
This is to say that the New Testament is the book of the early Church not
only in the sense that the New Testament was written for use by the Church
but also in the sense that it reflects the life of the Church.
The New Testament
is a collection of isolated documents and almost random theological statements
for anyone who does not recognize the Church reflected and expressed in it.
In other words, the New Testament sets forth the beginning, and contains
the classical formulation, of the life of the Christian Church;
the New Testament
documents are the primary documents of church history and of the history
of Christian thought.
They are classical in the sense that the Church chose
them as adequate representations of its beginnings or, to put it more precisely,
of its original and thus permanently significant expressions.
At the same
time, they do not suggest that the Church can be regarded as a static entity.
They come out of a historical process, and the dynamism of this process implies
that whenever the later Church is true to its origins it too is dynamic.
The purpose, then, of New Testament study is to take the various documents
and the insights expressed in the documents and to reconstruct the life out
of which the documents and the insights emerged.
We have already said more
than enough about the necessity for caution in assigning semi-canonical status
to our reconstruction.
It can never be more than probable;
at the same time, it can be rather highly
probable, and we should not ask for more.
No historical knowledge is more
than probable.
Of course it is possible to avoid risks by remaining within
the circle of what the documents say and simply paraphrasing them.
But such
paraphrasing contributes nothing to historical knowledge.
Such "exegesis"
cannot be related to anything else that we know.
It stands in splendid isolation,
and so does whatever else we may be able to ascertain.
Historical knowledge
involves the risk of interpretation.
top