Today my reflections on this topic are guided by the following paragraph from DeConick’s Recovering. She writes

We must suspend the processes of composition familiar to our own literate minds and try to enter into a process that makes sense within the ancient world where orality was not only the dominant form of transmission and preservation, but also the dominant form of consciousness. . . .There was no orality behind Thomas. Thomas was orally-derived. That is, it emerged as an oral ‘text’ (p, 55) (emphasis in original).

To my mind, this recognition needs to be one of the essential starting points for the discussion of dating Thomas. Our thinking is so shaped and really, dominated by the fact that we are a literate, text-based society. Many of the models we apply to the examination of early Christian texts are tainted by our inability to recognize the pervasiveness of oral transmission in the first few Christian centuries. This is why we have “cut and paste” models that, given full consideration, could never be considered tenable explanations of how these ancient documents developed. At this point someone may object, “but we DO have written texts, how can we account for that?” Anticipating this objection, DeConick offers this qualifier:

Let me be clear. I am not saying that ancient people did not rely on written sources in their composition process. Certainly they did. But the ancients did so as much from their memory of having heard or read those sources previously as from having written copies in hand. Also we must remember that they felt a certain skepticism about the accuracy of texts and preferred to rely on oral sources whenever possible (p. 57).

So, step 1 in this whole pursuit  must be recognizing, and maybe even erring on the side of, orality. In the next post I want to consider how this gets us to DeConick’s “Kernel.” Some of her arguments are compelling. Again, I’m not convinced that it goes all the way back to 30 CE, but we’ll consider that as the discussion progresses.

It may be a little premature, but I believe I am dangerously close to “drinking the Kool-Aid” on this one. While I have expressed some disagreements with April DeConick over the John-Thomas issue both on this blog and in print, I still find her work immensely helpful for my own research on the Gospel of Thomas. In fact, as I re-read her Recovering the Original Gospel of Thomas in preparation for a chapter I am writing, I find her argument for dating the traditions in Thomas compelling. Today as I sat in the Norfolk International Airport en route to Baltimore I was struck once again by her argument that the Thomasine traditions which deal with James reveal a great deal about possible stages in the life of the community (notice: I applied the word “stages” to the community and not the sayings tradition because DeConick objects when some equate her “accretions” with concrete stages; I don’t want to be accused of misrepresenting her view). Whereas one logion suggests that James is still around and in charge, another suggests that he is not. If his death can be dated to 62 CE, then this argues for an early tradition (part of DeConick’s “Kernel”) existing prior to 62. Does it go all the way back to 50? I don’t know if I’m convinced. What about 30? Definitely not convinced. But she does make a compelling case for a handful of pre-70 (and thus pre-Markan) traditions in the final form of Thomas. In the next few posts I want to consider this position in greater detail.

April DeConick announced today that her new edited volume, The Codex Judas Papers, will be out shortly. She managed to secure a 25% discount from Brill for her blog readers, so head on over and become one so you can find out how to snag that deal.

April DeConick posted yesterday her “Ten Commandments” of historico-critical interpretation. Part of her post was meant to address the incompatibility of historico-critical methodology and what she calls “confessional” scholarship (I use “devotional” or “faith-based”). I thought the list made a lot of sense, although I find myself agreeing with James McGrath regarding reporting history. I think some texts prioritize history, even if the ideology is a very close second. (I also believe ideology is often prioritized over theology, but I’m not here to engage this argument.)

Today April responds to what I conclude must be some misrepresentations of her point:

What did I say yesterday? I said that as a historian I find the combination of historical-criticism, literary criticism and social-scientific approach to be the most advantageous. I said that I felt that nothing can replace historical-criticism and if we are going to recover history this is not going to be done via literary criticism alone.

What I find particularly important is what follows:

We must continue to train our students rigorously in historical-criticism even though post-modern interpretation is sweeping the academy. . . . There is no neutral text, and there is no neutral interpretation as I have said countless times (so often in fact that I am getting tired of needing to continue to write it, but I guess I do because other bloggers keep criticizing me for missing this very point?!). However, this does NOT make all interpretations equally valuable for the historical endeavor. This is where I draw the line on theological interpretation and confessional perspectives. They are fine for certain discussions, as long as they are not being paraded out as historical or confused with the historical.

I think these are important points. I believe historical criticism is a foundational interpretive methodology, and it should be rigorously emphasized in the classroom. The better grasp the student has of the principles April outlined yesterday (i.e., no neutral text; always context before, during, and after text; author has viewpoint and is engaging opposing viewpoint), the more critically they will be able to approach a given text and the more integrated their work will be into the goals of the acadamy.

April finishes:

So the biggest “new” piece to the historical-critical puzzle which I included yesterday in my ten principles, is that the historical-critical method I use has been opened up to be aware of the marginalized histories, that – as my mom used to say – there are always two-sides to a story. As a historical-critic, I recognized a long time ago that the dominant story we are told in most of our texts is not the way things were (or for that matter ‘are’).

This is the call of our generation – to understand our past more fully and appreciate the variety and complexity of it. We need to give proper credit to the marginalized histories for their own sake, but also with the recognition that the dominant stories would not be what they are if those it marginalized had not lived.

This is an often overlooked aspect of biblical scholarship. The texts that come to us through the accident of preservation are the products, for the most part, of the winners of history. They are the work of the aristocracies, the royalty, and the dominant worldviews. Often veiled from our view are the less popular ideologies (unless they come into direct conflict with the popular ones), the ethnic minorities, the economically disadvantaged, the women, and the other historical also-rans. These groups often form the contextual base of whatever culture is under investigation. The future of biblical scholarship will depend to a large degree, I believe, on the integration of these groups into the larger discussion.

Last week after our brief interchange, April DeConick  posted some thoughts on methdology that sounded very much like oversimplification and false dilemma (see here and here and my thoughts here). Today she has plotted out, rather carefully, a much more reasonable series of methdological starting points for doing responsible historical investigation. While I still think she is undervaluing literary study as a legitimate avenue for pursuing historical research, I am glad to see her admit that even her approach has its biases.

History vs. confession? Is that what the most important issue of our time boils down to? Are there any other categories?

 Also known as “false choice,” “false dichotomy,” or “false dilemma,” the fallacy of the excluded middle refers to an error in logic where a single choice between two alternatives is offered when there are actually more choices available. Such argumentation is common, even among academics, and this is just the sort of thinking I ran into this morning while cruising through the blogosphere. The post in question compared “confessional” and “historical-critical” approaches to biblical scholarship and seemed to imply (okay, stated unequivocally) that you could either be one or the other. Really? Are those the only two options? Are there not confessional scholars who are also “historical-critical” in their approach? If not, what was Raymond Brown doing all those years?

 To be sure, there is a strand of confessional scholarship that disengages from historical-critical controls and argues with a fundamentalist zeal. There is also a radical “anti-confessional” strand of scholarship whose similarly fundamentalist ramblings give the pamphleteers of the 19th century a run for their money. Neither of these approaches should be given any credibility. But if we distance ourselves from those two polar ends of the spectrum, can’t we say that this type of thinking represents a false dilemma? Surely you can be both confessional and historical-critical at the same time, or you can be one and not the other, or even neither one, can’t you?

During my time at Catholic University we were fond of recounting stories of Joe Fitzmyer’s slavish adherence in class to the historical-critical method. I don’t think anyone (including the blogger in question) would judge Fitz’s rigorous work in Aramaic, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and biblical exegesis as being “confessional” rather than “historical-critical,” even though he is an ordained Jesuit priest (you don’t get much more “confessional” than that). Above all, Fitz is a career-long advocate and practitioner of the historical-critical method.

 But even still, there are more categories, aren’t there? What about those who find little value in what the historical critics have bequeathed to us (source-, form-, and redaction criticisms) and have moved forward into narrative, reader-response, and postmodern criticisms? I’m sure those scholars (many of whom are “confessional” and many of whom are not) would object to the narrow scope of the “either confession or historical critical” proposal.

 Even still, are there not more options? I know scholars who would call themselves followers of Jesus Christ who refuse to teach the “historical truth” of the resurrection or virginal conception but still confess the “theological truth” of these doctrines.

 There are more options and the “either/or” dilemma is extremely shortsighted and fails to take into account a much wider spectrum of methodological approaches. In making such a false dilemma the blogger in question fails to acknowledge her own presuppositions and commitments and instead implies that the “historical-critical” method is a bias-free, objective approach, vis-à-vis the “highly biased” confessional approach. This view of reality is as overly simplified as the “confessional” view being characterized in the post. If this is indeed the most important issue of our time then the problem needs to be more clearly explained and more thoroughly considered.

My recent exchange with April DeConick got me thinking about how little attention is paid to the question of hermeneutics in the pursuit of historical questions. When we talk exegesis everyone wants to discuss hermeneutics, but when we talk about historical investigation it seems missing from the discussion (at least as history applies to biblical studies).

 I like to tell my students that—whether we like it or not—what we bring to a given text is often as determinative as what we find in the text. Our “lenses” (so to speak) color, shade, and sometimes taint our best attempts at objectivity. Given the best scholarly controls, we still find at least a bit of ourselves (and often a lot of ourselves) in our interpretations. Add to this the methodologies we choose to employ and we can often find ourselves talking past each other rather than genuinely communicating. I tried to discuss this in my brief exchange with April (and she later seemed to characterize my critique as one seeking to preserve historicity and canonical authority (see para 3), which not only misses the point but is not even part of my approach to the issue of John and Thomas. (As an aside, I think it is ironic that she seems to be subtly mischaracterizing my view while chastising Robert Eisenman for mischaracterizing hers.)

 So let me attempt a little more clarity on this issue. There is no such thing as a “view from nowhere.” There is no such thing as a disinterested reading of a text or an unbiased pursuit of historical knowledge. There is no such thing as objectivity. Even our best attempts at objectivity fail. There are no facts without individuals to interpret them. There are no individuals without biases. This means that every exegetical or historical pursuit is filtered through the lenses of one’s presuppositions, biases, background, experiences, etc. This does not mean that our scholarship is destined (or doomed, some might say) to be apologetic or polemical in nature but an admission of this does allow for more intellectually honest discourse about our conclusions.

I do not mean to set up a “free for all” where we can all create our own meaning and every interpretation is equally valid. I do believe we should acknowledge our presuppositions going into a discussion. What we bring to a text or an investigation is as determinative as what we find there, whether we like it or not. So it is possible to honestly evaluate someone’s else view, while also, equally honestly, divulging one’s presuppositions. I’m not sure everyone in the discussion (including April) is convinced of this.

Earlier this morning April DeConick took the time to respond to my interview with Andrew Bernhard and Mike Grondin. I wanted to respond just to clarify a few things and address some of her concerns:

DeConick wrote: “Just because the author of the gospel of John has negative things to say about disciples other than Thomas does not lead to the conclusion that there is (or can be) no polemic against Thomasine traditions in this text.”

 Agreed. Nowhere do I suggest this. However, in the face of the evidence I present, I am not convinced by her arguments (or by the arguments of Riley and Pagels) that Thomas is the subject of a Johannine polemic. Instead I believe the similar presentation of other Johannine characters provides us with a set of controls that are otherwise absent in the arguments of Riley, DeConick, and Pagels. It is important to realize that DeConick is responding to the interview and not to the book. Her responses show that she has not read my book where I make it clear that I believe the question of John’s relationship to Thomas is still very much open and that I am not attempting to answer that question. My concern is to expose, what I believe to be, a real weakness in the community-conflict hypothesis.

DeConick wrote: “The fact that Riley, Pagels and myself point out differing topics for those polemics (resurrection; genesis exegesis; soteriology) does not suggest that the conflict we see is “speculative” in some negative unsubstantiated way as Skinner implies. All of scholarship is speculative. This is not a bad thing as long as it is based on the evidence and reasoned well. The development of models have to be based on reasoned speculation from our sources.”

 Again, I would say it is important to read the book and not just the interview. This relatively minor critique does not factor in to the book’s overall discussion (although it is interesting to me that there is no agreement on what the polemic is all about; in the book I make the same point about the lack of unanimity in what Johannine scholars have said about representative characters).  I would say, however, that not ALL scholarship is speculative. Not even all biblical scholarship or early Christian studies is speculative. Much of it is. Let me provide an example of the type of thinking I am targeting when I critique all-things-speculative in the interview. A great deal of modern scholarship questions the historicity of much in the NT narratives (and there are good reasons for doing this). Many of those same scholars will then turn around and generate complex, sophisticated theories about how a given document came to exist and present it with a confidence that outranks any discussion of (for instance) the historicity of a given account in Mark’s Gospel. This approach seems contradictory and I am suspicious of this approach because if we can deny the historicity of things for which we have great amounts of textual evidence and then confidently argue in favor of that which has no (or very little textual evidence), we seem to be building skyscrapers on toothpicks.

DeConick wrote: “I am concerned by Skinner’s suggestion that because Riley, Pagels and myself do not come to the same conclusions regarding the topic of the polemic, that we are making the details fit our own theories. This type of criticism has nothing to do with scholarly argumentation. It is an attempt to dismiss the evidence without dealing with it. In fact, my hypothesis developed out of my careful exegetical reading of these texts, as did Riley’s and Pagels’. I did not have some sweeping theory in place before I started my research, and from the conversations I have had in the past with both Riley and Pagels, neither did they.”

 It was never my intention to insinuate that the proponents of this position had a “sweeping theory” in place before starting the research. However, the basic assumptions of their methodological approach have their attendant “baggage” as do the assumptions of my own methods. Nor do I “dismiss the evidence without dealing with it.” I address it in the book and then argue for something different. Remember, this is an interview that is meant to distill, ever so briefly, the conclusions of the book. I am not able to provide every argument point-by-point. I would add that we should all recognize that there is no such thing as a disinterested reading or a view from nowhere. What I was trying to critique in that portion of the interview was their methodologies (which seem inconsistent to me at times). I was not questioning their academic integrity or casting aspersions upon their characters, just critiquing their methods. Given their methodological assumptions they are more likely to arrive at certain conclusions even if they didn’t come to the table with a “sweeping theory.” This is also true of me and it is true of any other scholar working on such questions. The point I was trying to make was one about methodology.

DeConick wrote: “I want to say a few words in response to Skinner’s statement, “One of the first things I found problematic in the approach (which I, for purposes of brevity, have designated the ‘community-conflict hypothesis’) was that these scholars were all making a great deal about an entirely speculative ‘conflict’ while doing very little exegesis in the Fourth Gospel.” I did “very little exegesis in the Fourth Gospel”? Are you kidding me? I have two entire chapters of exegesis of the Fourth Gospel in my book Voices of the Mystics (as well as a entire chapter exegeting the gospel of Thomas, and another entire chapter exegeting Syrian texts with associated traditions). This is not “little” in my eyes.”

 To be fair, I do state in my book that April engages in much more detailed exegesis in the Fourth Gospel than either Pagels or Riley.

 DeConick wrote: “My position has been and continues to be that the author of the gospel of John is aware of the type of vision and ascent mysticism that came to be associated with the Thomasine traditions in Syria, and he is polemicizing against them. I have not and do not maintain that the author of the gospel of John knew or read the gospel of Thomas. . . . .It is not a competition between their gospels as literary compositions. If I have read Pagels correctly, she too argues that the author of John knew and thoroughly disagreed with the type of exegesis of the Genesis story offered in the gospel of Thomas, that he was engaged in a clash of traditions and polemics against the specific patterns of exegesis preserved in the gospel of Thomas, not the gospel of Thomas itself (Beyond Belief, p. 479).”

 I appreciate April clarifying her own views and, for the record, I never say or even imply anything like the above about her position in my book. For the record, here is a portion of how I present her view in the book:

 “While DeConick disagrees with Riley’s characterization of the conflict between the two communities as focused on resurrection, she nevertheless asserts a very real conflict between the two. For DeConick, the root of the conflict (or “discursive field” of their dispute) is soteriological. Specifically, she writes that the Fourth Gospel polemicizes against a Thomas tradition that promotes the idea of disciples seeking visions through ecstatic ascent. This is, she writes, at odds with the Johannine teaching on the necessity of faith apart from sight and is clear evidence of John’s response to the Thomas-sayings tradition.

 DeConick argues that a knowledge of mystical traditions stood behind sayings 15, 27, 37, 50, 59, 83, and 84 of the Gospel of Thomas. Specifically, saying 59 [Coptic text here] Jesus said, ‘Look at the Living One while you are alive lest you die and seek to see Him and are unable to do so’”) is a paradigmatic passage for DeConick. She writes that this saying reflects a pre-mortem experience that “may anticipate death or an eschatological journey but which must be achieved in the believer’s lifetime.” She sees four specific passages in the Fourth Gospel as direct condemnations of this element in Thomas’s theology. Specifically, John 1:18 (“No one has ever seen God”), 3:13 (“No one has ascended into heaven except he who descended from heaven”), 5:37 (“The Father who sent me has himself witnessed concerning me; you have never heard his voice nor seen him”), and 6:46 (“No one has seen the Father except the one who is from the Father; he has seen the Father”) are supposed to represent explicit polemical responses to this aspect of Thomas’s theology.” (Skinner, 12-13)

I hope April feels the above accurately reflects her own view.

 DeConick wrote: “The origins of the Fourth Gospel has not been satisfactorily worked out, although we are a fingernail away. It is a gospel containing many polemics, much of which has already been mapped by a number of previous scholars. The author is particularly hard on the twelve (one of them was a devil!, another was a traitor!, and another a doubter!), especially in the pre-final-redactor version (before c. 21 was added; and perhaps the resurrection stories fiddled with).”

 This is where I really begin to run into major problems, and this is where the issue of methodology comes in once again. Why do these need to be regarded as “polemics” at all? In the Gospel of Mark we see a very similar presentation of the disciples. The twelve whom the Markan Jesus appoints to be “with him” (met’autou) are meant to be the ultimate insiders but continue to be on the outside looking in while marginalized characters like the Syrophoenician woman and the hemorrhaging woman, become the ultimate insiders (i.e., those who understand Jesus’ kingdom mission according to Mark’s presentation). If we apply the criterion of multiple attestation to this discussion, we could look at the Gospels of Mark and John and argue that there is a high degree of historicity in the intellectual and/or spiritual failing of the disciples. We might also appeal to the criterion of embarrassment and argue that, if there has been little attempt in the development of the tradition between 70 CE (when Mark was being composed) to 95 CE (when John was being composed) to explain away the incomprehension, we again have a high likelihood that these intellectual failures have some degree of historicity. So I ask again, why must these presentations of the twelve be polemics at all? Couldn’t we be dealing with genuine kernels of historical material that are being shaped during the compositional process to fit the literary and theological needs of the storyteller and/or the community? Again, methodology seems to predetermine (or at least highly taint) the exegetical process. I am more than willing to admit this on my end but DeConick seems to take it as a slight. I do not intend it as such. In fact, I highly regard DeConick’s work (as I say at the end of the first question in the interview) and also here (a post from 9/7).

 DeConick wrote: “The heroes of this earlier version of the gospel are not among the twelve, but are the outsider disciples: the beloved disciple (who is Lazarus by narratological reading of the gospel), Joseph of Arimathea, and Mary Magdalene. This gospel legitimatizes itself on authorities alternative to the Twelve and the Petrine tradition, Thomas among them and the particular brand of mystical Christianity that appears to have become associated with his name in Syria. It isn’t until the gospel is redacted into the form we have with c. 21 that the Petrine is fully embraced. The polemics in this gospel are far-reaching. The Johannine author is like the author of the Testimony of Truth, who is unhappy with everyone except his very own.”

 Several points need clarification here: (1) The view that “by narratological reading” Lazarus is the beloved disciple is far from a dominant position in Johannine studies. In fact, aside from Mark W.G. Stibbe and Ben Witherington, I know of no other recent commentator to argue for that position. (2) It is also far from certain that in chapter 21 “the Petrine is fully embraced.” There is, in fact, significant disagreement over Peter’s role in the Fourth Gospel and whether or not Peter’s restoration is a full embrace or a begrudging nod to Peter’s recognized primacy in the early church. I deal with this at length in chapter four of my book when I deal with Peter’s characterization in the Fourth Gospel. (3) I feel compelled to say something about her comparison with the Testimony of Truth but I fear it will only serve to further reveal the divide in our respective approaches to the question.

 I greatly appreciate April’s response and I hope my rejoinder has clarified my position to some degree.

I have just noticed that April DeConick posted a response to the interview about my book (which interacts with a theory she has written extensively on). I do not have time for a full response now but read her thought-provoking post. I think it interesting that she regards the Fourth Gospel as “containing many polemics,” (emphasis mine) and this type of thinking goes directly to my point in the conclusion of the book. In her exegesis, and in the work of both Riley and Pagels, the Fourth Gospel becomes a field in which to mine for insights about Christian origins and leaves little room for the evangelist to say anything genuinely declarative, instructive, or didactic to his audience (except in response to all his “competitors”).

Thanks to April for the detailed reply.

Brenda Heyink has decided to chime in and add her two cents, assessing my argument and the overall point being made by Deconick.

I was just at April DeConick’s ”Forbidden Gospels” site following up on her recent discussion of the largely male-dominated blogosphere. I must say that I was more than a little surprised by her reports of the kind of response her blogs on this topic have received.  For my part, I have gained a tremendous amount from April’s publications and blogging. May her tribe increase!

April DeConick discusses the contemporary academic treatment of the anti-semitism of early Christianity and its implications. I think her point about modern attempts to exonerate Judas is important, but at the same time, I do think that during and shortly after the Second Temple Period rather bitter internal conflicts were developing within Judaism. I do not, however, think it has any bearing on early Christian anti-Semitism.

This Friday night April DeConick is lecturing (along with a musical performance, what a show!) at the Rothko Chapel. Somebody please go, tape it, and send us a copy. If nothing else, tape the KUHF show and send us that, cause we can’t get Houston radio (except for the KPFT archives, but that doesn’t help us here. April, you should do an Open Journal on KPFT!)

Cause if we were in town, we would have heard this.

On their respective blogs, April DeConick, Mark Goodacre, and Loren Rosson are having a discussion of orality, “secondary orality,” oral and literate cultures, and how our era of chaotic electronic communication might compare to the world that produced the New Testament (the area of study of the aforementioned scholar/bloggers). It’s pretty interesting stuff, so I won’t let my complete ignorance of the subject keep me from making a few random semi-related comments. Please do bear in mind that my only claim to expertise here is that I, you know, read and talk, so I’m pretty sure I’m way out in left field here. Oh, and I think my most interesting point as the last one, so you might just skip to that.

It’s not entirely clear to me that Professors DeConick and Goodacre and Rosson don’t actually more or less agree—Goodacre says so, respecting DeConick’s first post—and that the apparent disagreement is really over terminology and nuance and emphasis. Is that typical of oral or literate cultures? . Insofar as I understand the issues here, I’m entirely with April DeConick (always a safe bet, as far as I can tell).

Rossen, citing this, argues “that our hypertext/internet subculture shares remarkable similarities with oral biblical culture.” I don’t buy it. The analogy is certainly interesting, but I don’t think it’s more than, well, an interesting analogy. It would be at the very least misleading to draw conclusions about the culture that produced the New Testament. Maybe when I have more time and energy I’ll respond to all the points there in detail, but for now I’ll just mention two very obvious things:

1. Our pseudo-oral electronic communication shares one crucial feature with good old books, and not with truly oral culture—you can always look up sources. You can click on those links above and see what I garbled in this post. You should, actually, if you have the slightest interest. Then you can go to a library and read the references they cite. I should do that myself.
2. As April DeConick comes close to pointing out, people in oral cultures had skills we don’t—our memories suck. We have no need to remember very much; we can look up anything we need, and just haven’t needed to practice memorizing things. The internet has made looking stuff up even easier, come to think of it, moving us still further away from truly oral cultures.

This does have me thinking about “oral transmission” and what it means for various ancient texts. How do the gospels compare in that respect to the Pentateuch, or to the Iliad and the Odyssey?

Homer seems a very different case from the Bible here—the Greek epics were (apparently) pretty direct transcriptions of oral versions of the story. Hence all the mnemonic devices and stock phrases: “strong-greaved Achaeans,” “bright Achilles,” “gray-eyed Athene,” “wine-dark sea.”

The gospels and the Old Testament, at least the part of the OT I find most interesting—the J sections of the Pentateuch and the story of David—also strike me as fundamentally different in origin. The gospels were apparently written down in part to preserve circulating oral tradition, and although (unlike the Homeric epics) they were certainly not mere transcriptions, their authors presumably thought of themselves much more as reporters than as poets or novelists. On the other hand, I tend to think that the Yahwist and the “Court Historian of David,”—who may have been the same person—were essentially novelists. They used oral (and maybe written, for all we know) tradition as source material, but just as modern fabulists and historical novelists do they turned them into new, creative works. I think the Court History of David (including one of its prequels in I Samuel) is in fact best characterized as the first historical novel. Or at least the first one that survives.

Back to the modern world. I think the only example of an actual oral culture that we modern Americans are exposed to is that of elementary-school children. All of you out there sang “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells,” “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, I bit my teacher’s toe,” and “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school,” didn’t you? In the days before Bart Simpson those spread (mostly) orally, all over the country, with all the attendant versions and variations that you’d expect. “I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes“—maybe New Testament scholars should consider visiting some elementary schools…

That title sounds almost polemical. No, it’s meant rather to point to her own interesting post of a similar title (a couple weeks old, I have to admit… I’m still catching up on my blog reading after the quarter has ended). She talks about her experiences with interviewers from the press about her new book The Thirteenth Apostle: What the Gospel of Judas Really Says. She reflects on how she gets asked what religion she is, which is most likely not a question received by, say, classicists or other types of historians. Naturally, the idea behind the question is to see how the person’s faith has affected their scholarship and perhaps even the conclusions they have come to. Here’s an excerpt:

That said, when I answer the reporter’s question, “What religion are you?”, with “A liberal Christian” or “A progressive Christian”, there is usually a pause as the reporter responds, “but your book is conservative.”

How delightful. How fascinating. How paradoxical.

I am not a liberal or conservative scholar. I am a historian of religion whose main goal is to reconstruct the history and theology of the ancient Christians as accurately as I can. If the text had said that he was a hero, I would have supported that position. But it doesn’t. So I have to follow through, maintaining academic integrity even if this means that I have to take a position opposite many scholars whom I consider to be friends. Judas is still a demon, even in the gnostic tradition. Epiphanius was wrong, as are the scholars who wish it to be otherwise.

I am in complete agreement here. I often say that it may be my deep commitment to Anabaptism that leads me to study social issues in the New Testament and early Christianity, but that I’m not out to prove anything in particular. I don’t have an Anabaptist ax to grind (a funny image, come to think of it). I simply hope to explore and discover the evidence of what may have been the social situation of the early Christians. I want to be completely honest about what I find.

One of the things I find humorous about April’s interviewers’ reactions is: I’m not sure I’d say her conclusions about the Gospel of Judas are conservative. She goes against what the “liberal scholars” (emphasis on the quotation marks here) are saying, but does that make her “conservative”?

It seems to me that a “conservative” would literally want to “conserve” tradition. The traditional understanding of the Gospel of Judas is that Judas is understood to be a “hero.” See Irenaeus and Pseudo-Tertullian, for example (April refers, I think, to the 38th chapter of Panarion by Epiphanius of Salamis, for which I can’t seem to find a good online resource). The “conservative” understanding of the Gospel of Judas, it seems to me, would be that it portrays Judas as a hero. It was considered heresy, after all. So, if anything, the so-called “liberal scholars” on the Gospel of Judas are really “conserving” the traditional understanding of the Gospel of Judas to some extent, whether or not they do so intentionally (they may, however, disagree with the value judgment of the traditional understanding–i.e., that it is heresy). April offers a “liberal” understanding in that it suggests a nontraditional view of the Gospel of Judas: that Judas is not the hero for the gnostics.

But the point is: April is not driven to find a nontraditional view and thus be a “liberal” scholar in this way, but rather that she is simply investigating and reporting what she finds. Just goes to show again the (non)usefulness of “conservative” and “liberal” as identifiers for scholarship.

Update (12/20/2007): See this post from April today regarding Robert Eisenman’s misreading of her work (he calls her a “theologically-minded scholar”).

nytimes.com/2007/12/01/opinion/01deconink.html

This Bible scholar writing an oped in the New York Times is actually very kind as she meticulously explains how National Geographic engaged in what can only be described in willful deception, in that National Geographic purposefully violated several accepted scholarly norms in translating, interpreting, and publicizing this false document. First of all, National Geographic and the media in general failed to deal with the gnostic character of the book. As such, from reading their account of the book, it was merely an alternative version of the gospel events, which allows them to claim that there was no unified story or message of Jesus Christ until the church created one by selectively choosing and then editing several books. The fact that this and other gnostic books contain an entirely different belief and value system from both Christianity AND Judaism is never dealt with. The Judaism thing is key: the New Testament is utterly Jewish in theology, philosophy, and culture. The gnostic books merely use the Christian and Jewish books as allegories to expound their pre – existing pagan beliefs.

And of these, the Gospel of Judas was perhaps the worst. National Geographic hid this fact by purposefully mistranslating the type of entity that Judas was as “spirit” instead of “demon” and then withholding the manuscripts so that the text could not be independently studied. That and other liberties that they took concealed from the public the fact that The Gospel of Judas was a blistering attack on Christianity. Quoting the author: “Because Judas is a demon working for Ialdabaoth, the author believed, when Judas sacrifices Jesus he does so to the demons, not to the supreme God. This mocks mainstream Christians’ belief in the atoning value of Jesus’ death. ” It is obvious that by misrepresenting the true nature of the book, National Geographic used it to mock Christianity a second time.

The scholar, April D. DeConick, does not attribute truly nefarious motives to National Geographic. Quite the contrary, she claims that they did it to make money (in the most timid fashion possible) and even claimed that there was some altruistic desire to reduce the tensions between Christians and Jews. Well, in a sense she is right: convincing Christians that their religion is false and thereby destroying the religion would, by default, reduce tensions between Christians and Jews because there would be no more Christians.

Fortunately, National Geographic’s tactics regarding the Gospel of Judas was thoroughly rejected and discredited as questionable scholarship done to make money in the eyes of all but the most agenda – driven people not long after it’s release. It is a question whether people like Elaine Pagels, who fully accepted the book as a legitimate way of reconstructing the true message of Jesus Christ based on the original willfully distorted translation that National Geographic presented, will stick to their guns, or more likely just ignore the new information without anyone holding them accountable. From a review of Pagels’ book on the Gospel of Judas: “Pagels and King have come to realize that they “cannot easily dismiss this author as either a madman or a lunatic.” Instead, they delve deeply into his theological view that a pure, spiritual realm exists beyond the physical world that we see—a Gnostic chestnut that recurs in other second-century texts. Alive to irony and historical nuance, this remarkably concise primer opens readers to a plausible and often persuasive interpretation of the disquieting Gospel of Judas. ” Another: “Pagels’ text will help general readers get past the difficulties and into the fascinating message, which emphasizes spiritual rather than physical resurrection for both Jesus and his followers. Pagels also shows why this message was so noxious to church leaders and explains how the gospel fits into the body of noncanonical literature. By showing how Judas’ vision of life after death should be understood, this elegantly written book makes clear the relevance of a centuries-old text for a contemporary audience.”

Now to be fair, it appears that the “scholar”that worked with Pagels on their book on the false gospel retranslated it. Which makes it worse … they ALSO refused to acknowledge that the book presented the death of Jesus Christ as a climactic triumph of evil over good.

April DeConick says it all here: “To its credit, National Geographic has acknowledged this mistake, albeit far too late to change the public misconception.” Of course, she never deals with the possibility that such was their intent in the first place. She also says: “I have wondered why so many scholars and writers have been inspired by the National Geographic version of the Gospel of Judas.” Other than the wishful thinking that it was to improve relations between Christians and Jews, she rejected seriously dealing with the evidence on that matter as well: that the world will be “inspired” by anything that rejects and hates Jesus Christ and His gospel.

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.”