A little while ago, I came across an interesting article by a new Fuller professor in New Testament, David Downs. Downs came to us from his PhD program at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he wrote the article, “‘Early Catholicism’ and Apocalypticism in the Pastoral Epistles” (Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67, no. 4 [October 2005]: 641-661). For my class on the history of NT scholarship, I have to write a paper surveying a particular topic in the history of scholarship and I’m thinking about something within apocalypticism. Seems like Downs’ article is a good starting place.

What was the deal with apocalypticism in the early church? Where did the “apocalyptic mindset” of the early Jews and the early followers of Jesus come from? One theory posits that the early Christians (if we can call them that) increasingly set aside their radical apocalyptic fervor as the church developed more structure. It’s a bit like ABC’s Lost. Some people desperately want to get off the island, to get rescued, and will try anything (build a raft, make a huge S.O.S. sign) to accomplish that. Other passengers from Oceanic Flight 815 are more “realistic” about their chances for rescue and decide to set down roots and get comfortable (build a church, set up a kitchen on the beach).

Apocalypticism, the idea that there is a coming cosmic transition and an accompanying judgment of people by God, was common amidst early Jewish texts into the first century C.E., when the early followers of Jesus picked it up. “Early catholicism” (from the German Frühkatholizismus) refers to a growing inclination towards hierarchical church structure, distance between clergy and laity, establishment of a biblical canon, emphasis on sacraments, and a diminished apocalyptic expectation of the immediate return of Christ (the parousia). Some scholars think that traces of such “early catholicism” in the church can be found within the New Testament, particularly the Pastoral Epistles (those being 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, and Titus).

At this point, David Downs would like to question a few established assumptions:

To what extent do these letters exhibit the primary feature of early catholicism, namely, a diminished apocalyptic worldview? Or, in short, are “early catholicism” and “apocalypticism” mutually exclusive categories? Is the dawn of the former necessarily tied to the eclipse of the latter? (644)

In other words, is it really such a simple transition from heightened apocalyptic anticipation to a more settled, structured ecclesiology? And is “transition” even the correct word? Can we truly characterize these two emphases as moving along a progressive continuum from one to the other?

First, Downs points out that “[o]ne could hardly imagine a religious group in the ancient (or modern) world simultaneously more apocalyptic and more highly structured than the Dead Sea sect” (648). In the Jews represented by the Dead Sea Scrolls, one finds both structure and fervor. Apocalypticism is seen in various places:

The ideas that the Qumran sect appears to have shared with—or, more likely, inherited from—the apocalypses include: (1) the belief that divine mysteries have been revealed to members of the community (1QH 9:21); (2) the perception of communion with the heavenly world, particularly angelic figures (1QM 7:5-6; lQSa 2:3-9; 1QH 11:20-23); (3) an affinity for the periodization of history (CD 2:9-10; 4Q552-553); (4) a strong dualism, possibly influenced by the Enochic tradition (1QS 3-4; 1QM); and (5) an eschatology shaped by the conviction that the last days have begun but are not yet completed (CD 4:4; lQSa; lQpHab 7:1-14; 4Q174). [649]

Hierarchy is seen, for example, in the Community Rule (e.g., 1QS 5:20-23, 6:2-3). Downs uses the Qumran community to show that “apocalypticism and institutionalism are not mutually exclusive categories” (651). Therefore, we should not see “church order” in and of itself as an indicator for diminished apocalyptic fervor.

On the other hand, Downs mentions earlier Dibelius and Conzelmann’s Hermeneia commentary on the Pastoral Epistles in which they conclude that the letters have an “ethic of good citizenship” in their attempt to fit into the Greco-Roman culture. 1 Timothy 2:1-4 is a classic demonstration of this:

First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity. This is right and is acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.

The idea here (at least as the author writes it) is to be good citizen, so that your countercultural behavior might not hinder the spread of the gospel. We certainly don’t see such a desire in the Dead Sea Scrolls. I wonder if an increasing acceptance of Hellenistic culture and desire to be good Roman citizens can be an indicator of diminished apocalypticism, even if institutionalization cannot. If a group embraces their surrounding society and culture, what reason do they have for desiring the world to end?

And before getting into Downs’ assessment of the letters themselves, I’ll leave it there for the day.

In response to my last post, Michael W-W asked me what schools, programs and mentors I am considering for doctoral studies. At this point, I’m holding my cards close, not merely to be enigmatic, but because I don’t want to appear to favor one program over another in such a public way. To be honest, I feel like I would love to go to any of the schools to which I’m applying. I am excited by all the interesting possibilities out there. But I’m not adverse to others guessing my thought process. Let me tell you what I am generally looking for, and then see if you can guess. I think any responses would be worthwhile in themselves. My wife is, of course, disqualified.

My field of interest: I am interested in studying the documents of the New Testament as a window into the social history of Christianity’s formative period. I am particularly intrigued by questions of how a new movement of Jesus followers balance their rootedness in early Judaism, their attempt to follow the teachings of Jesus, and their connections with the Hellenistic context surrounding them. More specifically, how would their beliefs, and how these early followers “remembered” Jesus (e.g., Gospel narratives, christology), affect their social structures (e.g., family, slavery, community) and vice versa? I am also especially drawn to apocalyptic literature and how themes of perseverance and anticipated eschatological victory work into the social cohesion of early Jesus followers. Spin-off issues of interest include Jewish-Christian relations, the Wirkungsgeschichte (history of interpretation) of relevant texts, and the later transitions in Christian communities due to “Constantinianism.” All in all, I think I would like a healthy blend of both diachronic and synchronic approaches to biblical studies.

What I hope for in a doctoral program: Taking my interests into consideration, I would like to have at least one faculty member who has stellar New Testament credentials. I hope that the program would offer some way of connecting New Testament textual study with social sciences, either in a New Testament or early Christian history faculty member [could be the same as the aforementioned New Testament specialist]. I would also appreciate working with someone who has considerable expertise in Second Temple Judaism. One also hopes that said experts would be caring and compassionate folks. Finally, I would like a school big enough so that I can more readily pursue interests that cross-over with other fields.

And I haven’t even mentioned financial or geographical preferences, but let’s not narrow things down too far . . . what do you think fits the bill?

Colbert: “What the hell is the Gospel of Judas?”

Originally premiered 4/17/07. For those who don’t know, you can read an English translation of the Gospel of Judas on the National Geographic website. You can also see their Coptic transcription. April DeConick suggests that the National Geographic translation has errors and that Judas is actually “as evil as ever” in this Gospel of Judas. You can find comments from Jim Davila of PaleoJudaica about this. Dr. DeConick is working on getting a book published on what the Gospel of Judas really says. Maybe Stephen Colbert will have her on the show!

As you saw, Pagels mentions Irenaeus (that “chatty Cathy” in Colbert’s words) in this interview. I am interested to see whether Dr. DeConick interacts with Irenaeus’ mention of the Gospel of Judas in his Against the Heresies. Here is an English translation of the brief reference (you can find the surrounding context here):

They declare that Judas the traitor was thoroughly acquainted with these things, and that he alone, knowing the truth as no others did, accomplished the mystery of the betrayal; by him all things, both earthly and heavenly, were thus thrown into confusion. They produce a fictitious history of this kind, which they style the Gospel of Judas.

I could be wrong, but it seems that this quotation indicates that Irenaeus thought something like Pagels and King are advocating in regards to the message of the Gospel of Judas. Would Dr. DeConick suggest that scholars working on the Gospel of Judas are too quick to accept Irenaeus’ understanding of its message (if not his judgment of it as heresy) and let it influence their translation? Or perhaps I’m reading too much into things.

Also of interest: you can also find Bart Ehrman’s interviews on The Colbert Report (aired 06/20/06) and The Daily Show (aired 03/14/06) on his book Misquoting Jesus. Stephen Prothero, Chair of the Department of Religion at BU, was recently interviewed on The Daily Show (03/19/07). At a more popular level, The Colbert Report has interviewed Tony Campolo (02/27/06) and The Daily Show has interviewed Jim Wallis (01/31/05). I think it’s great when religion is talked about on these shows. Not only do Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert make complicated subjects more accessible, but they (usually) do so in an intelligent way. And it’s funny.

Against my better judgment, I have foolishly chosen to explore the possibility of doing a paper on the Philippians hymn (that’s Phil 2:5-11 for those who are unfamiliar). The paper is for the class The Cross in the New Testament, taught by Marianne Meye Thompson, and it primarily focuses on the death of Jesus and related atonement theories (it fulfills the New Testament Theology [NTT] requirement for the Fuller Seminary MDiv program–it’s my third NTT class). This is not simply another class paper, I should have you know. This is also intended to be the basis for my writing sample that will be sent off to doctoral programs. On top of that, I am considering submitting it as a paper for the regional religion conference in 2008 (which is conveniently meeting at Fuller Seminary). All things considered, I need to rev up all available engines on this project. Perhaps it is not wise to give my potential competition a glance at the topic of my research and my strategy, but things are at their beginning stages for this paper, so I’m not too worried about it. I don’t even know if I’m going to stick with the Philippians hymn.

Speaking of which, one who is not on the “inside” of biblical studies may wonder what the big deal is about this passage. The big deal is that there is a massive amount of scholarly literature about this small section in Paul’s epistle to the Philippians. It is believed to be one of the earliest hymns of the Christian church and, furthermore, one of the earliest compact statements of a clear christological outlook. The hymn contains the incarnation, the crucifixion, and the subsequent exaltation of Jesus by God. It is packed with theology. From my cursory understanding (as I said, I’ve only begun the research process), a large deal of the scholarly literature is focused on individual elements of this hymn; the “emptying” of Christ, for example. I am possibly narrowing my focus on one element as well, and that is the role that the death of Jesus plays in the hymn and the importance of obedience, even obedience that should be modeled by the followers of Jesus. I’m not sure how much scholarly literature focuses on this aspect of the hymn.

Another huge topic in the study of this passage is its literary form. A great deal of ink has been spilled analyzing how the form fits together and from where it comes. I have a different interest. I am particularly interested in how it might have functioned and what it might have meant to early communities of Christians, as far as we can know or guess these things. There has been a great deal written on the function of hymns generally in early Christianity, and that will be one place I will have to spend time. I am also interested in sociological studies related to communal or social memory. I believe these studies may provide a window into how the theme of Jesus’ obedient death as a model for imitation might have functioned among early believers. You may have noticed my earlier post when I declared I would be working on the memory of Jesus in the early church for this paper. This is the “angle” I’m now considering for that paper.

April DeConick has recently blogged a series of posts regarding the tendencies of communal memory. These are the tendencies she has posted about thus far:

1. Communal memory depends upon shared frames of references within a culture as it thrives on remaking the past into a history with contemporaneous meaning. [more here]
2. These remembrances do not represent the sum total of what actually happened, but are fragments of the past that have been rearranged and reconnected into a new interpretative framework. [more here]
3. [T]he process of recreating the past is ongoing for the group since it is constantly under pressure to adjust and respond to societal, political, cultural, and religious pressures that the group experiences. [more here]

She has also pointed to a collection of articles to which she has contributed. Interestingly, I actually found the book the day before noticing that she had mentioned it on her blog. It is entitled Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity and is edited by Alan Kirk and Tom Thatcher. You can also find it on Amazon, where it is a “Search Inside” book, and is 30% off (at least, it is at the moment).

Again, I am not as interested in “getting at” the history behind the text regarding the historical Jesus, the historical Paul, or even this historical hymn, though there are certainly implications regarding these in my project. Nevertheless, I do think the concepts of communal memory may be helpful in exploring how the early church remembered Jesus.

All of this to say, I may just be insane. As I look back at what I have just now wrote, I am thoroughly daunted and may indeed take on a different topic. I will explore the possibility, though, and see what happens.

I saw that Jim West (Tertullian) and Judy Redman (Melito of Sardis) tried this out and a bunch of others too. I like my results:

You’re St. Jerome! You’re a passionate Christian, fiercely devoted to Jesus Christ and his Church. You are willing to labor long hours in the Lord’s vineyard, and you have little patience with those who are less willing or able to work as you do. Your passions often carry you into temptation zones of wrath, lust, and pride. Find out which Church Father you are at The Way of the Fathers!

That’s quite a combination of temptations! At least I’m pretty darn good with languages. As it happens, Michael L. Westmoreland-White turns out to be Jerome as well. Must be some proto-baptist spirit in Jerome. Michael also points out that there are no “church mothers” in the quiz which is a complaint that I have too. But seeing as Jerome was interested in women and their capabilities (we won’t go too far into that one), perhaps that’s as good as we can get in this quiz.

April DeConick has conjectured about the most important elements of the future of biblical studies as an academic discipline. She even made me wonder if I should try to find some way of starting to learn Coptic while I’m still a masters student. Not sure how I would achieve that, though. Another thing that caught my eye was that she highlighted “Social Memory theories.” This is what she says:

The third on my list is Social Memory theories. Again, we as biblical scholars are about fifty years behind in our knowledge base. I don’t know why this is, since Social Memory theories have been picked up by historians long before we biblical scholars even heard of the existence of these theories. These theories have enormous implications for biblical studies because they explain how and why traditions form and shift, are preserved and erased. They help us with historiographical problems, really proving in my opinion that history recounted is never the history that happened but only the history remembered by people for reasons contemporary to the community remembering. Think about what this means for early Christian writings.

DeConick believes that Social Memory theory helps to show that the documents of early Christianity are not historically reliable. I have heard others point to Social Memory theories in support of the historicity of the Gospels. As for me, I am less concerned with historicity as with meaning. In other words, at this point, I’m more interested in what Social Memory theory reveals about why the early Christians emphasized certain things and how that shaped their community life (as much as that can be known). How did the emphases of memory in the community change over time and why? It seems that memory happens in a different way as time goes by. First, it is oral tradition. Then probably a mix of oral and written. After a while, it is written memory, but what of the masses of illiterate Christians? It seems that, for them, Jesus was remembered in the Eucharist. What does that mean? I have a lot of questions about memory and meaning.

[This was for an assignment for Early Church History with James Bradley. We were to exegete a particular historical text, in this case Augustine's Correction of the Donatists, by giving some historical context, describe the author's thesis and how he defends it, and briefly evaluate the work. I chose this work by Augustine, instead of two others by Athenagoras and Athanasius, because I am keenly interested in the problematic church-state issues that come out of it. I put some notes on my sources at the bottom.]

In his 185th epistle, Augustine writes to Boniface a letter that functions like a prolonged essay entitled, “A Book on the Correction of the Donatists.” In the correspondence, Augustine makes a case for the state-endorsed persecution of the Donatists. The intention of the present paper is to briefly exegete this document by noting the historical context, addressing the thesis and arguments of the text itself, and finally shortly evaluating the claims of the text from the present author’s own theological perspective and situation, namely Anabaptism.

Donatism arose out of a particular historical conflict regarding a specific bishop of Carthage named Caecilian. The group, that would later be called Donatists, accused Caecilian of being consecrated by a traditor, one who handed over Scripture during Diocletian’s persecution of the Christians. They claimed that Caecilian’s consecration as bishop in about 311 was invalid. To give more background to this situation, Mensurius, Caecilian’s predecessor, believed that those who absolutely refused to cooperate with authorities were overreacting. Caecilian, as Mensurius’ arch-deacon, prevented food from being taken to the “confessors” who were in prison and speaking out against the bishop. Therefore, when Caecilian was consecrated, the Numidian bishops, who supported the objection of Caecilian, appointed their own rival bishop who was soon succeeded by Donatus, from whence the Donatists get their name. They challenged Caecilian and when they failed, unsuccessfully appealed all the way to the Emperor (c. 316). Over the next century, Carthage came to be split between the two rival North African Christian communities. This is the situation in which Augustine writes his letter to Boniface in around 417. Bonifice was the tribune of Africa and would have been in charge of implementing punishments upon the Donatists.

Augustine’s main endeavor in his “correction of the Donatists” can be found stated in various ways in multiple places within the document. One of the clearest and most succinct statements in this regard is found in the opening line of the 23rd paragraph: “Why, then, should the Church not force her lost children to return if those lost children were forcing others to perish?” The Donatists have not only been led astray, but they are consequently leading others astray. They pose a threat to themselves and those that they bring to their position, while at the same time they pose a violent threat to the Catholic church. Augustine accuses the Donatists of cruel murders, plundering attacks of homes, burning of homes and churches, the fire into which some even throw Scriptures (30). In other words, in Augustine’s view, there is much at stake here.

Augustine argues that persecution done for the right and just reasons is a good thing, though he tames his language by suggesting that the attempt of the Catholic church to “correct and heal” (see 51) the Donatists is an act of love (e.g., 7). Throughout the argument, Augustine makes frequent use of the Scriptures to make his case. He even uses the words of a non-Christian author, oft quoted by the Donatists, to uncover the inconsistency of the Donatists’ case (21).

Augustine begins his letter by distinguishing for Boniface between the Arians and the Donatists. While the Arians say that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are of separate substances, the Donatists hold that the three are one substance. The real issue is “Church unity,” about which they quarrel and to which they are a hostile threat (1). Though Augustine will later challenge their beliefs regarding sinlessness (39-40), for example, the central concern about the Donatists is not one of belief about God, but rather about their relationship with the Catholic church and with the state. The Donatists recognize Christ in the Scriptures, but “with an amazing blindness” they deny the authority of the Catholic church (2).

To support their view regarding the Catholic church, Augustine suggests that the Donatists “pick and choose” their Scriptures, so to speak. Augustine goes through various Scriptures with which the Donatists agree and those with which they refuse to agree (3). The implication is that the reading of Scripture done by the Catholic church is correct and holistic, while that of the Donatists is selective and incomplete.

At this point, Augustine addresses the historical concern regarding Caecilian, mentioned above. He states that their evidence is questionable about whether Caecilian was guilty of their accusations (that Caecilian was consecrated by a traditor). Even if they were correct, Augustine argues, the Donatists would still not be justified in cutting themselves off from the unity of the Catholic church (4-5). Augustine uses the actions of the Donatists in this historical situation to point out their inconsistency: the Donatists claim that Christians should not call upon the authority of a Christian emperor against the “enemies of Christ,” and yet that is what they themselves did in appealing to Constantine in Caecilian’s case (6). Augustine states that the Donatists lie in their claim that they won the case against Caecilian, and now “the laws by which the Donatists wanted to destroy the innocent Caecilian have been turned against them” (7). As we shall see, the Donatists treatment of Caecilian surfaces a few more times as Augustine continues to make his case (see 10, 16, and 47).

Augustine next major point in his argument is to distinguish between just and unjust persecution. Those who stand up against “bad laws in favor of error and against the truth” are justified in their correct stance and “win the crowns of martyrs.” On the other hand, those who react against “good laws in favor of the truth and against error” do not gain such status and are indeed “punished.” Of these, Augustine states that “those who act with violence are struck with terror and those who act with intelligence are corrected” (8). The Donatists distort the situation, then, by claiming that they are being persecuted as martyrs, because they are refusing to obey “good laws.” We must distinguish between false martyrs and true martyrs. For this, Augustine points to the Psalms and to the example of Sarah persecuting Hagar in contrast to Saul persecuting David. Hagar was justly persecuted, while David was not (9). The main thought here is that those who are being justly persecuted deserve their “correction,” while those being unjustly persecuted deserve “help” (even though he will later state that correction via persecution is, in fact, a necessary form of help). Therefore, the Donatists say that being persecuted is the mark of the true church, but yet they persecuted Caecilian; Caecilian was part of the true church because he was unjustly persecuted (10).

Augustine appeals to the threat of the Donatists’ heinous violence, even suicidal violence, as reason for their just persecution (e.g., 12, 18, 26). At first, he claims, Augustine was against the use of force in the “correction” of the Donatists. He and some others desired to extract fines from the wayward bishops and leaders of the Donatists (25), but the violent threat was too great and “God knew” that more needed to be done (26). Augustine appeals to the example of Paul, who was forced into faith through physical blindness and then given correction (22). It is better, of course, to bring heretics to the true church through by gentle instruction than by “the fear or the pain of punishment.” This fact, however, does not negate the necessity of the latter option (21).

Augustine believes that saving the Donatists is somewhat akin to saving people in a building about to collapse (33-34), which seems to imply impending doom for the Donatists at the final judgment. He suggests that even if some of the people in the building stubbornly kill themselves when the rescuers rush in to save everyone that they can, that should not stop them from saving those for whom it is possible. Even if they are only able to rescue a few, while the rest perish by their own faults, it would be worth the effort. Augustine states that the Catholic church does not “hate” the Donatists, instead he says, “let them come” and participate in the church, leaving behind their errors (46). They do not take the property of the Donatists out of greed for the property, but if the Donatists would come back to the true church, they would gain their property back and would share in the property of the church, along with the Catholics (35-36). The Holy Spirit, after all, cannot be found outside the Catholic church (49-50).

As an Anabaptist, the present author is skeptical of arguments that would justify state-sanctioned persecution of those who do not belong to what the state considers the “true” church. I am inclined to sympathize with the claims of the Donatists that the Catholic church unjustly appeals to the emperor in its persecution of their sect. In paragraph 20, Augustine asks, “[W]hy should adultery be punished by the laws and sacrilege be permitted? Or is it less serious for a soul to be unfaithful to God than for a woman to be unfaithful to her husband?” It is possible to respond by saying that unfaithfulness to God is indeed more serious than unfaithfulness to a spouse, but the former is not in the jurisdiction of the state to enforce judgment. Augustine also argues that the violence is too large a problem to not appeal to the Christian emperor for help (18). Many would agree that allowing the state to respond to violence is a good thing, as long as the response is appropriate to the action (e.g., punishment would not be enforced upon those who did not commit the actions). We must distinguish punishing violent behavior, however, from persecuting those who have a different belief system simply because they have a different belief system.

On the other hand, Augustine’s arguments are not without merit. One can appreciate the appeal to “love” and the rejection of “hate” in his instruction on how to deal with the Donatists. The reader can also sympathize with the deep division that would have been part of everyday reality in Carthage. If Augustine’s account is correct, something indeed must be done regarding the rampant violence and he rightly denounces the apparent suicidal desire for martyrdom seen in radicals. The unfortunate reality is that Augustine wrapped these valid concerns together with a desire to persecute the rival Christian community because it was a rival Christian community, an inclination that would lead the church into great state-sanctioned trouble.

[On sources: I used the text found in “Letter 185,” translated by Roland Teske in The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation of the 21st Century, vol. II.3., edited by Boniface Ramsey (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2004), 178-206. Citations in my paper come from this text, with the paragraph number in parentheses. In his note on the letter (see page 178), Teske states that Augustine later treated this document as a “book” in Revisions 2.48, which is where he gave it the title, The Correction of the Donatists. My historical background information was gleaned from various articles in the Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, Henry Chadwick's The Early Church, and Teske's own introduction to the work.]

I have just had an interaction with April DeConick regarding her approach to early Christianity and the response of some bibliobloggers to it. Tensions seem to be revealing themselves and I would like to explore them for a moment. Here is a quote from April DeConick’s Forbidden Gospels Blog:

What impedes our examination of early Christianity is not the limitations of historical criticism as some in the Academy would like to lead us to believe. The impediment is the fact that the majority of biblical scholars still have not dislodged themselves from their own faith perspectives. As long as this is the case, historical inquiry is impossible because the historical-critical perspective cannot be used uncompromisingly. Although I recognize that there can be no “objective” history recovered or written, this doesn’t mean to me that all subjective inquiries are the same. The theological inquiry is not the same as the historical.

Those in the Academy who have not dislodged themselves from their faith operate to defend, justify and explain it in terms they couch “historical” while privileging the New Testament canon and ignoring or dissing the apocrypha. Their personal religious belief in the authority of the New Testament scripture has led them to a common (and erroneous) assumption, that the New Testament texts are the only documents that tell us about the history of early Christianity. This leads to another common (and erroneous) assumption, that these canonical texts are accurate and reliable documents for the study of early Christianity. In this way, the religious walls of the canon have imprisoned the Academy for a couple of hundreds of years, holding us back from an honest historical analysis of early Christianity.

Many comments have been made to challenge this perspective. One commenter seemed to lump her view in with “those of secularised people living in late-20th century America, and that subset holding positions in full-time education (i.e. leftish, liberal, post-hippy, hostile to Christianity, Clinton not Bush, etc etc).” Another biblioblogger has written on his own blog: “She is a ferverently secularist and eschews faith-based approaches. . . . Given the tone of this remark, I think I prefer the company of James Crossley who is somewhat more restrained in his criticism of faith-based approaches. Actually, James is probably more pro-secular than he is anti-faith!” A patristics blogger has left the comment under another of April DeConick’s posts:

It is very possible to write as a good scholar within a religious tradition. We know this because so many of those writing in, say, patristics or even in the Apocrypha and Biblical Studies do write from a religious tradition and still manage to retain balance. They may have a different understanding of their purpose and they may ask questions that a ‘humanist’ may not, but I’m unconvinced that their scholarly integrity is compromised by their religious affiliations.

There are other examples, but we can see a theme coming out here. I asked Dr. DeConick how she would respond to the implied suggestion that she is “anti-faith.” Her response to the whole whirlwind of comments in such a short amount of time (she’s been blogging for less than a week, after all):

It is fascinating to me that my hard line on historicism has dumped me so immediately into the anti-faith, pro-secular, liberal camp (whatever that is supposed to be). Also fascinating is the immediate swing to point out that I’m not value-neutral because of my critical humanist approach (which is nothing more than the historian’s approach in any field of study). This is dizzying. I have nothing against theology or theologians. But I do recognize that there is a difference between theology and history. And I’m a historian who is concerned that theology is still dominating an Academy that claims to be doing history.

At this point, I’m not going to wrestle with whether one side of the argument is “right” or “wrong.” But instead, I would like to explore a theory about the tension. Being at an evangelical seminary myself, I converse with many evangelical scholars or evangelical scholars-in-the-making. The general impression that I get from them is that the academy of biblical and religious studies is overwhelmingly “secular” and “against” any kind of “theological” approach to early documents. At the same time, I have been reading several scholars from another perspective (such as Berlinerblau in his Chronicle article) who seem to think that the academy of biblical studies is too “theological” and entrenched in theological education. And as Dr. DeConick says, “I’m a historian who is concerned that theology is still dominating an Academy that claims to be doing history.” On the other hand, I have the feeling that the “theological” folks feel like a persecuted minority in the academy, worried, for example, that they will be negatively judged for their seminary educations.

Since most current bibliobloggers wear their faith on their sleeves (including myself), perhaps they feel like this biblioblogging world is a “safe” place for them. Maybe they feel threatened when another academic comes on the scene blogging things like “The impediment [to our examination of early Christianity] is the fact that the majority of biblical scholars still have not dislodged themselves from their own faith perspectives.” At the same time, perhaps more “secular” folks (and by that I just mean they are attempting to be “non-theological”) come into this biblioblogging world and see their frustrations confirmed in the blatant faith-based approaches to biblical studies.

To me, it sounds like a mutually threatening atmosphere in which both sides feel they are defending their views against the flow of the academy, and now it’s gotten a little tense online too. I think the dizzying response to Dr. DeConick’s blog has to do with the fact that she may have touched a nerve here. The problem about the blogging world is that it lends itself to knee-jerk reactions, and sometimes those knee-jerk reactions are not as cordial and respectful as they should be.

That’s my theory. I am happy to be corrected. Being one who is outward about his faith, I would tend to agree with the comment of our patristics friend listed above. But I can also see the need for accountability in these faith-based approaches. I would point to my earlier post about OPP people saying that the NPP is calling Judaism “racist.” When the basic values of our faith are at issue, I think we do tend to retreat to polemical tones. And at the risk of sounding “holier than thou,” I think that us Christians should pause a little longer and take a note from the person at the center of our faith, who reportedly told us to “first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.” I don’t mean that we shouldn’t examine and challenge the claims of others, but I think we should first breathe, then examine and challenge ourselves. Personally, I hope to be able to say to those with whom I disagree: “I don’t agree (and this is why), but I see where you’re coming from.”

April DeConick, Isla Carroll and Percy E. Turner Professor of Biblical Studies at Rice University, has joined the blogging world this past week with her Forbidden Gospels Blog. I’ve noticed because she’s been welcomed by bloggers at PaleoJudaica, The Busybody, Earliest Christian History, Hypotyposeis, Deinde (with a brief welcome and a longer critique of her post), and NT Gateway. Not that I’m worthy of being called a “host” of any kind in biblioblogging, but I would like to welcome her as well. I’d also like to take a few moments to reflect on her approach to Christian origins. In her first post, “Beyond the New Testament Canon,” She writes about herself:

As a scholar of religious history, I do not have to justify my conclusions to believers nor do I judge the texts I study in terms of our modern perspectives of “orthodoxy” or “heresy.” My rules of engagement are simply those of the modern intellectual community in search of knowledge. I consider myself a “humanist,” relying on ways of knowing developed since the Enlightenment in the discipline of the humanities and liberal arts. Given these premises, I take very seriously the study of a variety of early Christian documents, and do not operate within the boundaries of the New Testament canon.

Now, as a confessional Christian who is interested in serving God through an academic vocation in biblical studies, I probably should feel threatened or offended by scholars like DeConick. Instead, I actually feel excited and genuinely interested. Lately, I’ve been really getting into discussions about “orthodoxy” and “heresy” in the early church, particularly from “secular” perspectives and especially in Bart Ehrman‘s writings. As far as I can tell from my introspective reflection on the matter, I can see two reasons for my interest:

(1) I have a varied religious past myself. I was born into a Catholic family that was losing (or had already lost) interest in the Roman Catholic Church by the time I was born. My father has a Masters of Religious Education and was working in the church, but soon gave it up to go for a MBA and a career in business. I was baptized as an infant, but never really taken to Mass during my childhood. Then, as a freshman in high school, my father started taking me to a Unitarian Universalist church. I was enjoying that experience, while at the same time going to a youth group at my friend’s fundamentalist church. I lacked the awareness that this would be considered religiously odd. Later, I converted to Christianity and attended the fundamentalist church for two years. I was gung ho and tried to convert my whole high school, which did not make me popular. Then I went to Messiah College, hoping to deepen my knowledge about the Bible as a Bible major. Instead, my inerrantist reading of Scripture was given the ol’ drop kick out the window in my first class in biblical studies. After intellectually and spiritually wandering around different manifestations of Christianity in college, I was most drawn to Messiah’s founding Brethren in Christ denomination, and particularly its Anabaptist tradition, mixed with spiritually revivalistic elements. And that brings me to my second reason for interest in these secular approaches advocating noncanonical works:

(2) I am an Anabaptist, a tradition which itself was considered heresy (and still is by many) and whose participants even died for such accusations. Being a part of a tradition that followed its biblical and spiritual convictions, even in the midst of such dire circumstances, heightens my interest in the debates about “orthodoxy” and “heresy” in the early church.

I see pros and cons in most of the various movements within Christian origins. I understand that the stakes were high in the early church. I generally agree with what the established “catholic” church found to be “false doctrine.” But I can also understand the motivations of those who were called “heretics.” I can see why Marcion would feel conflicted about what seemed like a violent God in the Old Testament and draw upon the concept of the Demiurge to explain away such violence from his faith. I don’t agree with him, but if I understand the situation correctly, I can see where he’s coming from there. I particularly resonate with Montanism’s challenge to the established church and its claim to an authoritative, apostolic succession of bishops. I can also appreciate Montanism’s desire to keep the gifts of the Holy Spirit alive in a profound way, alongside a strong lived out morality. I feel uncomfortable with some of the things that they prophesied, but I can understand the instinct. Frankly, I have a hard time seeing the good in Gnosticism, which seems to me to be exclusivist in its complicated mysteriousness and irresponsible in its denial of the goodness of creation. But I can understand getting caught up in the philosophies of the day and combining together elements of different viewpoints to make sense of spiritual experience or philosophical reflection.

I do, of course, have troubles accepting everything that the established “orthodox” or “catholic” church did at the time as well. For me, the movement to hierarchy and the separation between the laity and clergy is problematic. I also have a hard time with the strong sacramental theology that emerged, particularly with the eucharist. It doesn’t make any sense to me that the “elements” would actually become the real blood and body of Jesus, aside from being kind of gross (one can understand Roman confusion and disgust with the practice). Nevertheless, I do see that this was a profound affirmation of Christ’s true humanity and indeed even the goodness of matter itself in response to Gnostic and Docetic views. It does seem to me that the “rule of faith” that can be seen in various forms in Ignatius, Justin, Irenaeus, Tertullian, Hypolytus, etc. is a necessary attempt to keep in line with the teachings of Jesus and the early apostles’ understanding of Jesus. I do agree that Gnosticism departed from those teachings significantly, even while it mixed some of it in. I understand that the early church felt the need to protect the boundaries of early understandings of Christ through early creedal formulations and a need for ordination, even if I feel uncomfortable with many of the things said by the authors of the time period and the legacy of their decisions.

All of this is to say that I am excited by more “secular” (though I won’t say “unbiased”) attempts to wrestle with the orthodox vs. heresy issue from a fresh perspective. So I thought that Danny’s critique of April DeConick’s first post was helpful, and I don’t necessarily agree with DeConick, but I greatly appreciate hearing things from another perspective. I have enjoyed every post
she’s put up so far. I would also like to point to James Tabor‘s Jesus Dynasty Blog and James Crossley‘s Earliest Christian History in the same vein, both of which I also greatly enjoy reading. Now we just have to get Ehrman into the blogging world!

Additional Note: I just realized that I am not aware of any other women in the world of academic blogs on biblical studies and Christian origins. In addition to her perspective as a “secular” scholar of early Christianity, I say hurrah for a woman’s voice in the discussion!!

I am taking two courses this Winter that have so far had some interesting parallels, especially in regard to legalism. My “Paul and the Law” class is taught by Don Hagner, along with some very capable doctoral students giving presentations. It is an introduction for me into the New Perspective debate on Paul (I will refer to the New Perspective as the NPP and the Old Perspective as the OPP–Not to be confused with: “You down with OPP? Yeah, you know me”). I’ve had a vague sort of concept of it, but now I’m starting to learn some of the basics. The NPP is trying to say that the OPP is colored by a “Lutheran” understanding of Paul. That is, the OPP is allegedly reading too much of a Reformation-like “justification by faith” emphasis into Paul. Therefore, the OPP (typically consisting of more conservative Protestants) is projecting their negative attitude towards the Roman Catholic Church (at least as it was in the 16th Century) into their understanding of Second Temple and Rabbinic Judaism.

The NPP authors, as I understand, consist of something of a not well-defined historical trajectory including W. D. Davies to Krister Stendahl to E. P. Sanders to N. T. Wright to James Dunn. This group would instead argue that the primary issue in the Pauline corpus, particularly Galatians and Romans, is a reaction against a “national righteousness” consciousness or simply a “national pride” that hindered them from accepting Gentiles into their fold. Paul’s arguments on “justification by faith,” therefore, should be understood as part of the Jewish-Gentile debate and not the central core of his theology (if that can even be found!).

The OPP seeks to prove that Judaism was legalistic in the time of the NT. That way we can say that Paul was reacting against that legalism and not just a closed-minded “national identity.” Both sides use rabbinic literature to make their case, but it is notoriously difficult to determine what from rabbinic literature (Mishnah, Talmuds, Midrashim, etc.) backdates into the first century. If the rabbinic documents do lean on the legalistic side, maybe Judaism was reacting against a perceived libertarianism in Christianity. It is hard to know.

If so, it would be similar to the reaction of the early church towards the Docetic and Gnostic threats in the second century. In my class on “Early Church History,” taught by James Bradley, we are learning that though elements of “grace” can be found in the Apostolic Fathers, we see a distinct move towards legalism. Bradley suggests that this is a reaction to the perceived libertarianism in Gnosticism. If the NT documents are a reaction against legalism, can the established, orthodox church really be considered 100% orthodox when it has gone too far towards legalism? Then again, one of the complications here is that the early church does not have an established NT canon. So it is somewhat anachronistic to judge the early church against the standards of the NT documents as we understand them today.

Isn’t ironic that if the NT does indeed emphasize grace over a “covenantal nomism” that the church itself was drawn towards legalism not too long into its beginnings? The Reformation “Lutherans” no doubt saw themselves as recovering the biblical vision of grace after a much longer period of legalistic leanings had taken place. To me, though, it seems so much more messy than an either-or dichotomy. Looking at Paul (let alone the entire NT canon), even Galatians itself, we can see a concern for both grace and ethics. I wonder if it could be both the OPP and the NPP. It seems rather presumptuous for us to proclaim that there was only one characteristic of Second Temple Judaism that a Christian Jew (or Jewish Christian, as Hagner would say) like Paul is reacting against, and that we know what it is for sure.

I know that the major concern for OPP people is that it leads to a dual path for salvation for Jews and for Christians. Hagner is adamant that there is only one way. I think that starting with that theological presumption taints our reading of the material. It only proves the point for me that OPP followers are reading the NT with Luther & Augustine colored glasses. I think theology should come after our exegesis of the texts.

It should be interesting for me to think through the issue from the perspective of Anabaptism after a close reading of the relevant texts. Anabaptism has some history with legalism and my own predisposition, I think, would be for the NPP. After a brief search for articles relating directly to an Anabaptist perspective on the NPP, not much turned up. I did discover that John Toews’ commentary on Romans shares the NPP and two articles that rely on the NPP from an Anabaptist perspective can be found here and here. But I have to try not to make prejudgments here. If I do end up on the side of the NPP, I don’t want to get there uncritically.

By the way, for more on the New Perspective, check out The Paul Page.