Ehrman has written a fascinating book. The questions he asks and the history he describes fill in a huge gap in my own understanding of how what we call “Christianity” today came to be, in particular how the version of Christianity that came to be dominant emerged among competing and widely divergent versions.
Where did what we call the “New Testament” come from? The simple answer of course is that the books of the New Testament were written by followers of Jesus and assembled into canonical form by the community of early Christians.
That’s the simple answer, but it’s way too simple. We have no original manuscripts of the books of the New Testament, and we have no copies of those manuscripts, nor copies of copies of them, nor copies of copies of copies. What later copies we have differ among themselves, so that no one copy, e.g., the oldest, can be regarded as authoritative.
Nor is the authorship of the books simple. Were the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John written by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? Not clear. They may have been written later with the intention of capturing the words of the persons they are attributed to, but not actually written by them. If so, they are the products of recollections and stories passed along, and no doubt by some filling-in-the-blanks. And there’s the question of language — the manuscripts were, as the copies show, written in Greek. Did the attributed authors read and write Greek? It seems unlikely.
And the books that became the canonical New Testament were not the only contenders for the canon. Settling on which books to include in the New Testament took centuries of debate, power struggles, proclamations, more debates, etc. The first proposal for the selection that we know as the New Testament came in the fourth century, hundreds of years after the first manuscripts had been written and reflecting centuries of those power struggles and debates. And no truly definitive settlement (at least for the Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Protestant traditions) came until the Council of Trent in the sixteenth century.
There were other proposed canons as well. For example, an early Christian group known as the Marcionites proposed a canon containing eleven books, with Luke preeminent.
Ehrman addresses these uncertainties and much more in accounting for the early history of Christianity and the emergence of the orthodox version of Christianity we know today.
He begins with the kinds of questions I’ve asked above, then goes on to discuss the topic from three perspectives. First the writings (gospels and others) that were excluded from the modern canon. Then the communities of believers who followed differing versions of Christianity, differing both in the texts that express their faith and in the interpretation of those texts. And then finally the debates and struggles out of which modern orthodoxy emerged, along with the consequences of that orthodoxy’s dominance.
Ehrman discusses three “forgeries”, and one additional possible forgery, as books excluded from the New Testament canon. In calling them “forgeries,” Ehrman is aware that the label is contentious. It’s not that there is really a lot of controversy over their authorship in particular, it’s rather that there is controversy over the authorship of the books that were included in the canon as well. It’s not clear that all, or at least most, books of the New Testament were not composed by the people they are attributed to. “Forgeries” is a loaded term, reflecting that these books’ authorship was most likely inauthentic, but more importantly that they were not ultimately included in the canon.
The three forgeries Ehrman discusses are:
- Gospel of Peter — maybe most significant for its accounts of Jesus’ conviction and sentencing, and the respective roles of Herod and Pilate
- Acts of Paul (and Thecla), about which I’ll talk below
- Gospel of Thomas — a collection of sayings attributed to Jesus, without commentary. Proto-Gnostic, promising eternal life to those who could comprehend the knowledge expressed in them. I’ll also briefly discuss Gnosticism itself later below.
Thecla is especially interesting. Although there may never have been such a person, and although the Acts of Paul were demonstrably not written by the apostle Paul, Thecla became, for some centuries a central figure in some regions where Christianity gained a foothold. Thecla was, in this account, a female follower of Paul and was authorized by Paul to teach and spread the faith. The Acts of Paul tell fantastic stories of miracles and adventures. Thecla advocated chastity, if not a more pure general asceticism. But unlike advocates of what would become monastic chastity, Thecla’s advocacy was a rebellion against patriarchy and an expression of female dignity.
Ehrman also discusses at some length a fourth would-be Scripture, the “Secret Gospel of Mark,”discovered within a copy of a letter written by Clement, containing quotations from that secret gospel and relating otherwise unknown acts by Jesus, including administering baptisms and a curious relationship with a young man whom he had raised from death. Needless to say, the authenticity of the letter, and the gospel it cites, are disputed, despite the academic standing of its discoverer and commentator, Morton Smith.
Just as important, or maybe even more important, than the Scriptures and purported Scriptures themselves were the communities of believers. These varied widely, and their choices of preferred Scriptures reflected their own versions of Christianity.
- Ebionites — practiced and believed Christianity as a continuation of Judaism, retaining its laws and practices
- Marcionites — more or less the opposites of the Ebionites, practiced and believed in Christianity as entirely separate and even opposed to Judaism. They believed, following their leader Marcion, that the Jews worshipped a different god, one who created the world but who was harsh, judgmental, and even the author of evil in the world. The Christian god was then a separate god, a god who, in answer to the evils and harsh character of the world, brought love, peace, and salvation.
You can see some continuity, thematically, between the Marcionites and the Gnostics. Both orient themselves around answers to the problem of evil — why is this world a world of suffering? For both the Marcionites and the Gnostics, a key part of the answer is that this world was not created by a beneficent god, by the true God, but by a lesser, derivative god, whose imperfections and maybe even enjoyment of human suffering are responsible for the state of things in this world. As the Marcionites saw the coming of Jesus as a response to this lesser god, the Gnostics saw Jesus as a bringer of knowledge that would free those who understood it properly from this world of suffering and restore them to the world for which they were truly meant, the true God’s world.
I think it’s important, although challenging, to keep in mind that these “lost” varieties of Christianity were not alternatives to an established, standard understanding of Christianity. This was a time in which Christianity’s identity, the nature of Christian faith, was unsettled. These are not conspiracy theories in opposition to what most believed. There was no “what most believed” at the time, no standard understanding of Christianity, no New Testament, no Nicene Creed or Apostles’ Creed. What now appear as alternative or strange were not alternative or strange at the time. They were just contenders for what Christianity would become. Ehrman makes this point in part by his referring to what is now orthodox Christianity as, in that time, “proto-orthodox”, the contender that did ultimately become the standard. As he says, “. . . it is widely thought today that proto-orthodoxy was simply one of many competing interpretations of Christianity in the early church.”
A modern reader might think that an appeal to the Scriptures themselves could settle questions of what Christians should believe and practice. But what Scriptures? And what interpretation of what Scriptures? The criteria that would supply a standard of truth are exactly what didn’t exist.
The debates and struggles that resulted in the emergence of an orthodoxy did last centuries. Ehrman emphasizes that these debates and struggles were carried out in written texts (as opposed, I imagine, to actual physical struggles and conflicts). Certainly there were rises and falls of the popularities of different versions of Christianity, even within the churches founded by the apostle Paul. But at the level of texts and their interpretations, we should keep in mind that the communities we are talking about were not especially literate. Ehrman cites estimates of literacy at about ten to fifteen percent among the general population, most likely lower among the emerging Christian communities, given that the members of those communities were not members of the educated ruling classes. And keep in mind of course that all of this happened about a thousand years before the invention of the printing press. It would seem a relatively small group of readers and writers were directly involved in the debates.
One powerful tool the leaders of proto-orthodoxy wielded against other versions of Christianity was “apostolic succession,” the claim that the leaders of proto-orthodox churches had been chosen by bishops who in turn had been chosen by apostles who had been chosen by Christ himself. So the leaders led in a line of succession of the truth reaching back to Jesus.
The validity of the argument is suspect. Few church leaders could be demonstrably traced back through such a succession, and other Christian communities could make similar claims about their own leaders, that they could trace their authority back to apostles of Jesus.
One factor not explicitly discussed by Ehrman may have been at work. Which version(s) of Christianity were more accessible than others? For example, Gnosticism was by its nature selective or even elitist — only some people, presumably a small minority, are born with the “divine spark” that will enable them to understand the hidden meanings of the Scriptures and attain salvation. Or take the Ebionites or other communities that emphasized a continuity with Judaism — the requirement that gentiles who adopt Christianity follow Judaic laws (kosher diet, observing the sabbath, circumcision, . . .) would be daunting. What became orthodox Christianity may have been more amenable to adoption than other varieties.
Ehrman argues that one especially distinctive feature of Christianity motivates the conflicts and debates over orthodoxy. That feature is the notion of orthodoxy itself. Prior to Christianity, with the exception of Judaism, religious beliefs and practices, at least within the Greek and Roman worlds, were very inclusive. The faithful didn’t necessarily agree on what they were faithful to. They observed practices and rituals pertaining to many gods, with overlapping domains, in various ways, without the apparent need to coalesce all into some single, consistent orthodoxy.
For Christians, it was otherwise. With their emphasis on not just ritual but belief came an emphasis on the content of what they believed, that that content be “right” and “true.” From there comes the requirement to get the Scripture, ultimately the words and teachings of Jesus, correct, from among many, many contenders.
Ehrman writes, “As soon as some of Jesus’ followers pronounced their belief that he had been raised from the dead, Christians began to understand that Jesus himself was, in some way, the only means of a right standing before God, the only way of salvation. But once that happened, a new factor entered the religious scene of antiquity. Christians by their nature became exclusivists, claiming to be right in such a way that everyone else was necessarily wrong.”
The significance of the conflicts and resolutions is not confined to issues within Christianity itself. The role of Christianity in the development of western culture is also at stake. Ehrman speculates briefly on what might have happened if a version of Christianity other than what became orthodox Christianity had won out. In particular, he discusses the role of fourth century Roman Emperor Constantine and his conversion to Christianity. Would Constantine have converted to a different version of Christianity, for example one that retained strict adherence to the Judaic Law? Or to a Gnostic version of Christianity? Given the leap in the popularity of Christianity with Constantine’s conversion, would Christianity have become the cultural force it became without his conversion, or with his conversion to a less inclusive, more demanding version of Christianity? How would the world have been different if Christian orthodoxy took a different path than the one it took?
The history is not a history of clear “debate on the merits.” Partly, that’s because the debate is partly about what the merits should be. Everyone could probably agree that “antiquity” is a clear merit, i.e., how old a purported Scripture is and thus how closely it stands in relation to Jesus’ life. Consistency with other accepted beliefs of course would be highly controversial, since what other beliefs are “accepted” is anything but a settled matter. Even logical consistency within a piece of Scripture or other expression of belief would be a fragile consideration, given that some beliefs, e.g., the doctrine of the Trinity, seem to be paradoxical by their nature.
It would be nice to consider that all of the disputes and conflicts reflected a pure striving for understanding of the world and the meanings of our lives. But of course, the disputes and conflicts are those of human beings with the motivations that drive human beings — ambitions, advantage, ego, political interest, and all the rest. We couldn’t expect anything else. But we can strive, with all of this in the rear view mirror, to adopt that more pure search for understanding as best we can.
Ehrman’s book was a fantastic find for me. Not only the subject matter, but his voice as a writer. Ehrman is an academic theologian, but he has also had popular success as a writer and speaker. It shows. He writes very conversationally, allowing himself to drop out of academic-talk when he feels he can communicate better without it. It’s a very readable, very engaging book, and if you’ve got anything like the same gap in understanding that I had, it’s a great resource.