Three ways of life

There are only three kinds of persons; those who serve God, having found Him; others who are occupied in seeking Him, not having found Him; while the remainder live without seeking Him, and without having found Him. The first are reasonable and happy, the last are foolish and unhappy; those between are unhappy and reasonable.

—Pascal in Pensées

Redefining worship?

I am dismayed by the popular phrase “worship experience” to describe the church’s corporate worship. Worship has the capacity to transform us, because it focuses our hearts and minds on God—God seen in one another, in ourselves and in the world around us. However, the phrase “worship experience” suggests that worship is important because it induces feelings. In this context worship is focused more on the worshiper than on the One worshiped.…

We need to ask ourselves what a true worship experience is so that if we had one, we could recognize it.

—Mark Horst in The Christian Century (Nov. 11. 1987)

Beyond sympathy

Sympathy is demeaning. Jesus never gave people sympathy. He wept with those who wept; He laughed with those who laughed. But He never said, “Oh, you poor thing. Isn’t it awful?” We are not to encourage people who are feeling sorry for themselves. Rather, we are to help them examine the possibilities for changing their situation or their attitude.

—Bruce Larson in Faith for the Journey

Living beyond perfectionism

Lived fully, the experience of illness can free you from the curse of perfectionism that makes happiness conditional on having everything just right.

—Cheri Register in Living with Chronic Illness: Days of Patience and Passion

Obnoxious saints

If you are a saint God will continually upset your programme, and if you are wedded to your programme you will become that most obnoxious creature under heaven, an irritable saint.

—Oswald Chambers in Run Today’s Race

Profitable waste

The lottery promotes the interesting moral notion that if people are inclined to waste their money, the government should make it fun for them. And take a profit.

—Charlie McDowell, quoted in the Tampa Tribune (Oct. 21, 1987)

How does your garden grow?

Any good gardener knows that beautiful roses require careful pruning. Pieces of a living plant have to die. It cannot just grow wild. We cannot simply “celebrate growth.” It is more than to be regretted, it is tragic that we seem to have lost the insight that growth in Christ requires careful pruning. Pieces of us by our intentional action need to die if we are to become the person that is in God’s vision. We are not cutting away a cancerous growth, but making room for intended growth.

—Urban T. Holmes III in Spirituality for Ministry

Righting the world

It was said of the apostles, “These that have turned the world upside down are come hither” (Acts 17:6). There is a story told of an eccentric English evangelist who took that text for one of his open-air sermons in a new place. He began by saying, “First, the world is wrong side up. Second, the world must be turned upside down. Third, we are the men to set it right.” In the man’s quaint phrases, this is really the purpose of the gospel. It is God’s way of making things right.

—A. B. Simpson in The Best of A. B. Simpson

After reading the articles in this supplement, you may have become confused—even troubled—about the basis of your faith. Does the welter of dates and councils and contradictory arguments presented by even the greatest saints allow us any right to be certain that Esther, a book that doesn’t mention the name of God; Song of Solomon, a love poem; and Philemon, an intensely private letter; must all be included in the Canon whereas Ecclesiasticus, a book of splendid moral instruction, is excluded?

Without reviewing a major apologetic, let it be noted that the rock-bottom basis of Christian faith is our confidence that, in spite of our sin, God has forgiven us and accepted us into his family through faith in Jesus Christ as our divine Lord and Savior. While evangelicals may disagree as to the nature and role of evidences, they are in broad agreement that this faith in Christ is a supernatural work of the Holy Spirit. And it is on this Christological base that they rest their confidence in the canon of Scripture.

Savior Of The Canon

Without question, Jesus Christ taught the divine authority of the Old Testament. Indirectly he also set the limits of the Old Testament canon by acknowledging the common canon of the Jews of his day. In the Sermon on the Mount he defends his complete acceptance of it, and this commitment runs throughout the entire gospel record, recurring again among his closest followers in the remainder of the New Testament. Disputes between Jesus and Jewish leaders always terminated on the interpretation of a Scripture to which they gave common allegiance, and never over what constituted Scripture.

A Christian today may not be able to judge the evidence as to whether the Jewish canon was solidified in 400 B.C. or centuries later. It is abundantly clear, nevertheless, that (1) the Jews generally held to the same canon as our Lord and his apostles; (2) that their canon did not include the Apocrypha; and (3) it contained the 39 books that we find in our Protestant Old Testament.

By validating the Old Testament canon of the Jews, our Lord also validated the method by which it came into being. Of the large amount of prophetic literature, the Spirit of God guided his people to preserve just 39 books. We may feel quite inadequate to determine on what grounds each book was retained, and we may be quite uncertain as to when Old Testament believers came to a final conclusion about the Canon. What is clear is that the Jews thought these books possessed divine authority—that they were books written by persons who had been commissioned by God to give forth his message. Moreover, we are certain that by the middle of the first century A.D. at the latest, the Jews and our Lord had a settled canon—our 39 Old Testament books.

The same process then repeated itself in the construction of our New Testament. Our Lord commissioned a band of apostles to speak with authority for him, paralleling God’s commission of the prophets in the Old Testament. The apostles claimed such authority and exercised it in the early church. They left a significant body of apostolic literature (not limited, of course, to the 12 original apostles, but rather to the authentic teaching of this body that had been commissioned by Christ to instruct the church). A portion of this apostolic literature was preserved in the church.

Just as with the Old Testament, we may be unable to prove exactly who wrote what or exactly when each book was acknowledged to be authoritative and on what grounds. But again, what is abundantly clear is that the church accepted the New Testament because it was convinced that these 27 books represented authoritative apostolic teaching by those who had been commissioned by Christ, the Lord of the church. Our Lord approved the results of the process in the Old Testament and instigated the same process in the New.

Basis For Belief

How, then, can we be confident in our acceptance of the Bible? For the Old Testament, it is our Lord’s approval of the divine authority of the 39 books composing the canon of the Jews. For the New Testament, it is his promise to provide similar instruction for his church through his apostles. The church, under the guidance of the Spirit, preserved just these 27 books that fulfilled his promise.

In the final analysis, the lordship of Jesus Christ is the basis for our confidence in the authority of the Old and New Testament.

Kenneth S. Kantzer is dean of the Christianity Today Institute.

Since the sixteenth century, when Protestants and Roman Catholics debated the extent of the Old Testament, there have been no changes in the shape of the Christian Bible. Protestants and Catholics still differ over the Old Testament Apocrypha; they remain in agreement on the content of the New Testament. And yet, the Canon continues to stir up intense scholarly discussion. A number of the historical and theological issues keep this subject on the front lines of biblical and theological study.

New Discoveries

Actually, history gives us little explicit information about how the Bible was formed, which in itself constitutes a challenge for ongoing re-evaluation of the available evidence. In addition, midtwentieth-century archeological discoveries in the Middle East have greatly augmented the available data. In 1945 a collection of Coptic gnostic documents was found at Nag Hammadi in Egypt that provided our single most important source of direct knowledge of Gnosticism and has refocused attention on the development of the New Testament canon. Study of the Old Testament canon received similar encouragement with the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947 and the years that followed.

It should be stressed that the evidence from these discoveries has only indirect bearing on the development of the Canon: nowhere do the Dead Sea Scrolls provide us with a list of the writings accepted as canonical by the Qumran community; neither do the Nag Hammadi materials define a gnostic “Bible.” Thus, scholars are forced to draw inferences—with more or less success—from the fragmentary data. For example, the only Old Testament book not represented among the Dead Sea Scrolls is Esther. Does this indicate, as some scholars believe, that Esther was not regarded as canonical at Qumran, or is its omission merely an accident of history?

These materials generated much early excitement and occasionally some wild speculation—such as the author who predicted “a massive series of changes regarding the shape and content of the Bible.” While the sifting of these materials is still unfinished, such revolutionary predictions are unrealistic.

The Apocrypha

The status of the Apocrypha remains at the center of canonical debate. Since the Reformation, Protestants have argued that the Apocrypha should not be included in the Old Testament because Jesus and the apostles recognized only the more restricted 22 (or 24-) book canon of later rabbinic Judaism. This understanding has been challenged by A. C. Sundberg, Jr., in his monograph The Old Testament of the Early Church (Harvard University Press, 1964).

The author argued that in Judaism prior to A.D. 90, only the first two sections of the Canon, “the Law” and “the Prophets,” were closed. The third section of the Canon, “the Writings,” had not been finalized; the Jews in both Palestine and Alexandria freely employed a wide range of literature without definite boundaries. After A.D. 70, Judaism and Christianity separated and independently completed the process of canonization. As a result, no appeals can be made to later rabbinic statements or to the practice of Jesus and the apostles to justify the Christian canon of the Old Testament—there are no historical antecedents upon which to ground the church’s decision.

The implications here are serious. If the traditional argument is faulty, we must agree with Sundberg that for Protestants the alternative is either to return to a pre-Reformation stance (implying acceptance of the canonical status of the Apocrypha) or to develop a new (nonhistorical) apologetic for the more restricted Canon.

A number of Protestant scholars have followed Sundberg in endorsing the Apocrypha. With publishers such as Doubleday (Anchor Bible Commentary) and Fortress (Hermeneia) committed to publishing complete commentaries on the Apocrypha, and with increased ecumenical concern for a common Bible, we may expect that Sundberg’s arguments will find increasing acceptance.

For a detailed treatment of this issue, see Roger Beckwith’s magisterial work, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church (Eerdmans, 1985).

Orthodoxy And Heresy

Another important question in recent literature is the rise of “orthodoxy” in the early church. The crucial work here is Walter Bauer’s Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, which first appeared in German in 1934 but received a new lease on life with the publication of an English translation by Fortress Press in 1971. Bauer contested the traditional understandings of “orthodoxy” as that which was original to Christianity and “heresy” as that which was secondary and deviant. Rather, “orthodoxy,” claimed Bauer, was merely the tag given to the winners of the theological and political battles of the early church. Because of this, Bauer asserted that in some areas the original manifestation of Christianity would later be judged heretical by the orthodox.

This thesis represents a powerful and sweeping historical reconstruction, which, if accepted, has profound implications for our understanding of the nature and formation of the New Testament canon. Because the New Testament is understood as a production of the “orthodox” party, it follows that the very notion of a canon—or at least this particular canon—must be as secondary as “orthodoxy” itself. The door is then open to discover some other approach to Christian origins (other than a canonical one) that better accords with the spirit of original Christianity.

There can be little doubt that part of the widespread appeal of Bauer’s work is attributable to the current infatuation with theological pluralism. In a day when many theologians wish to make way for the widest possible doctrinal diversity in the church, it is attractive to think that earliest Christianity was perhaps as pluralistic as the present and that one need not opt for an authoritative Canon to be authentically Christian.

Canonical Pseudepigraphy

The third historical issue is the problem of pseudonymity in the biblical Canon. Higher critical scholarship has long held that the authors of various canonical works deliberately misrepresented their identity in an effort to gain a hearing for their message. Books like Daniel, “Second Isaiah,” the Pastoral Letters, and 2 Peter are among those more commonly seen as pseudonymous. Conservative scholars have widely rejected the notion of biblical pseudonymity, believing that this is incompatible with an affirmation of the truthfulness of the Canon.

This issue has taken on fresh importance with the publication of David Meade’s Pseudonymity and Canon. Meade, an evangelical New Testament scholar, accepts the presence of pseudonymous writings in Scripture and seeks to reconcile this with the idea of an authoritative Canon. The key, he says, is found in the interplay of the ideas of revelation and tradition in Old Testament and intertestamental literature and, in turn, their relation to authorship and authority. Meade concludes that “… for many if not most of the Jewish and Christian religious writings which we examined, both inside and outside the ‘canon,’ the discovery of pseudonymous origins or anonymous redaction in no way prejudices either the inspiration or the canonicity of the work. Attribution, in the context of the Canon, must be primarily regarded as a statement (or assertion) of authoritative tradition.”

Meade’s views have received a prestigious endorsement in Prof. Bruce M. Metzger’s important new release, The Canon of the New Testament (Oxford University Press, 1987). However, many conservative evangelicals (myself included) will judge that Meade has too easily accepted the presence of pseudonymity in the Canon and at the same time underestimated the seriousness of the tension between these two ideas. However, his contribution, like that of Brevard Childs (see below), raises important questions about the role of the believing community in the canonical process that will set part of the agenda for continuing study and debate.

The Canon Within The Canon

Modern treatments of the Canon that fall more clearly, though not exclusively, on the theological side frequently discuss the problem of “a canon within the Canon.” The early formulation of this problem is often associated with the name of Johann Semler (1725–91), called by some the founder of the historical-critical study of the New Testament. His four-volume Treatise on the Free Investigation of the Canon (1771–75) was a sharp attack on the orthodox doctrine of Scripture.

Semler objected to the equation of “Scripture” with “Word of God”: not all that is contained in the Bible is the Word of God. The Canon as a whole was therefore rejected in favor of an inner core of truth that had abiding validity. To detect this core one would need some standard, or “canon,” for the biblical canon: Semler wished to retain whatever contributed to moral improvement. The problem here is one of subjectivism: How does one identify this inner canon and how is it to be applied to the biblical materials?

Modern historical-critical scholarship continues to accept Semler’s presuppositions and, as might be expected, has failed to reach any consensus on the shape or content of the inner canon. For some, the inner canon is the oldest proclamation (kerygma) of the early church; for others, it is the justification of the ungodly; for still others, it is the person and teaching of the “historical” Jesus.

Recent scholarship has emphasized strongly the alleged disunity of Scripture. For example, Ernst Kaesemann argues in a frequently quoted article that “… the variability of the primitive Christian kerygma … is already so wide even in the New Testament that we are compelled to admit the existence of not merely significant tensions, but, not infrequently, of irreconcilable theological contradictions.”

James Dunn, in his influential book Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (Westminster, 1977), follows the lead of Kaesemann: “… the New Testament is not a homogeneous collection of neatly complementary writings,” because “… the apostles did not all preach the same message and disagreed strongly on several important points.” In spite of this diversity, Dunn says there is still a unity in the New Testament, a canon within the Canon, which is the biblical witness to “the historical actuality of the Jesus who himself constitutes the unifying center of Christianity.”

Dunn’s work is wide-ranging, learned, and stimulating. And we must certainly acknowledge a great deal of diversity of thought and language among the various biblical writers. Yet it is imperative to distinguish complementarity from contradiction. The former suggests that there are multiple perspectives in the Canon that together constitute the full biblical picture; the latter suggests that the different perspectives compete with one another in such a way that if one is true, another is not.

Evangelicals cannot sacrifice the unity of the Canon on the altar of diversity without endangering the whole structure of evangelical theology. And we must not be diverted by Dunn’s remark that all Christians employ a canon within the Canon. It is true that all interpreters have certain organizing principles for correlating the biblical data. But this is far different from denying that all of Scripture is the Word of God.

Canon Criticism

Yale University professor Brevard Childs responds to the prevailing rationalism of modern biblical scholarship in a series of publications: Biblical Theology in Crisis (Fortress, 1979); The New Testament as Canon: An Introduction (Fortress, 1984); Old Testament Theology in a Canonical Context (Fortress, 1986). Often linked with another Old Testament scholar, James Sanders, as a proponent of “Canon criticism,” Childs actually dislikes the term, and the two approach questions quite differently. Sanders maintains substantial continuity with the traditional historical-critical treatment of the Old Testament, whereas Childs’s work represents much more of a challenge to rationalistic criticism—“an attempt to dispose of the Enlightenment, to destroy its values and drive out its way of dealing with biblical materials,” as James Barr has charged.

Childs, of course, claims that he does not reject the Enlightenment and its critical research; however, he believes that historical criticism has not provided an adequate method for doing biblical theology. The atomistic approach of the critics has failed to do justice to the biblical Canon as the proper context for theologizing. Childs rejects the idea of the canon within the Canon on the ground that the Scripture as a whole must be the starting point for any exegesis.

There is much here that is valuable. Childs’s warnings about the effects of historical-critical methodology are important for evangelicals to hear. His emphasis on the unity of the Canon is also to be appreciated. The nagging problem in Childs’s work from a conservative evangelical perspective is his neo-orthodox understanding of revelation, which, at the end of the day, prevents him from simply identifying Scripture with the divine Word.

Further Reading

The following selection of books was compiled and annotated by David Meade.

The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church, by Roger Beckwith (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985). A massive work by a conservative scholar writing on the Old Testament at the time of Jesus, this book argues for a single, closed Canon in this period.

Hermeneutics, Authority, and Canon, by D. A. Carson and J. D. Woodbridge (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1986). This is a collection of articles by noted evangelicals. See especially David Dunbar’s essay on the Canon.

The Formation of the New Testament Canon, by William R. Farmer and Dennis M. Farkasfalvy (New York: Paulist, 1983). This book presents two very different essays, one by a liberal Protestant and the other by a Roman Catholic. Farkasfalvy (O. Cist.) gives an important counterbalance to von Campenhausen’s views, tracing the roots of the New Testament canon back to Jesus.

The New Testament Canon, Its Making and Meaning, by Harry Y. Gamble (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). This is the best short introduction (95 pp.) to the history and issues of the New Testament canon, written from a moderate theological perspective.

The Inspiration and Canonicity of the Bible, by R. L. Harris (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1969). This book is written using a conservative fundamentalist treatment and, as such, rejects most modern methods and findings.

The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development and Significance, by Bruce M. Metzger (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987). Metzger, who is one of the foremost New Testament scholars of this century, offers a balanced treatment of canonical scholarship. This book is highly recommended.

David G. Dunbar is president of Biblical Theological Seminary in Hatfield, Pennsylvania.

Certainly, as Dr. Gaffin contends, God’s providential care in the production, use, and transmission of the canonical documents is important. But providence alone does not eliminate the need for specific criteria to determine what books are canonical. We need to be able to explain to both Christians and non-Christians why these particular documents are included in the Bible. And you cannot do that by simply saying God gave us these books.

One of the most important criteria for canonicity is usage. The early Christians started out as a people of the Book. They inherited a canon—the Hebrew Scriptures. In addition, the church came into being in response to the proclamation of a word from God. After people became believers, the proclaimed word was written down to be a continual guide for the life of the community. By use, the communities affirmed that such writings were authoritative for them. These were the books the church used from the very first to explain and proclaim its faith.

Valuable Documents

As important as usage is for determining canonicity, there is a more important reason why our 27 books are in the New Testament canon. These books have an inherent value and authority. The documents compel themselves upon us in a way that no creed or church decision could achieve. We do not believe the Bible because the church tells us to, but because the message it contains is so convincing. Canon is not an idea that was thrust on the Scriptures in the second or fourth centuries by the work of people like Irenaeus and Athanasius. Their comments and decisions were only recognitions of an authority already at work in the life of the church. They did not bestow authority on the New Testament documents. They acknowledged an authority already functioning.

The value of the documents is seen in the authoritative definition of Christianity that they give. Whether or not all of the writers knew they were writing Scripture is uncertain. They were, however, aware of the authoritative character of the traditions they recorded. The questions every document addressed defined the gospel and explained its implications: Who are Christians and how are they to live?

A second factor pointing to the inherent value and authority of the New Testament documents is their testimony to Jesus. Texts such as Acts 1:21–22 show how much the early Christians valued information about Jesus. In selecting a replacement for Judas, they required a person who had been with Jesus from the time of his baptism to his resurrection and ascension. Numerous texts witness to the fact that the life and words of Jesus were of paramount significance for the life of the church from the very first. (Note such texts as Mark 1:1; Luke 1:1–4; Acts 20:35; 1 Cor. 7:10–12, 25; 11:23; 1 Tim. 5:18; possibly 1 Thess. 4:14f.; John 15:27; 19:35; 20:30–31; and 21:24–25). By the time of Justin (A.D. 150) the Gospels were being read along with the Old Testament Prophets in Christian worship, and shortly after that Tatian wove together his Diatessaron, a harmony of our four Gospels.

Chronicles Of The Christ Events

The New Testament writings further stand up to canonical scrutiny because they are the only writings having chronological proximity to the Christ events and the emergence of the early church. These documents emerge from the center of Jesus’ closest followers during his life, and from the earliest Christians immediately after his resurrection. They point to Jesus more clearly than any other writings. Therefore, they function in a paradigmatic way for Christians. As William Barclay pointed out, the New Testament books became canonical because no one could stop them from doing so.

Questions continued about some books for a long time. Sometimes those questions were motivated by theological and political concerns (such as the heresy of Montanism, a movement overemphasizing the end of the age and the prophetic activity of the Spirit in certain individuals). But while questions continued, the majority of the New Testament canon was settled before the end of the second century. The books being questioned were like soft edges around the hard core of unquestioned documents. Decisions made with regard to the soft edges would not change the character of the faith.

In other words, before the church had a canon, it had a Lord and a theology. That theology was found in the life and teaching of Jesus and in the earliest preaching of his followers. The New Testament writings are a literary crystallization of that apostolic tradition. These books functioned de facto on a par with the Old Testament long before lists were established. They became canonical because they were already authoritative. The usual “criteria” of canonicity are expost facto explanations why these books were accepted into the Canon. That is, they were explanations offered after the books were already accepted as authoritative.

But Were They Inspired?

In particular, inspiration was not used in the early church as a criterion of canonicity. Several Christians in the early centuries spoke of their work as inspired without any thought that it was canonical. Clearly the Scriptures were viewed as inspired, but that is not why they were canonical. They were accepted as canonical because of their inherent value as the authoritative traditions about Jesus and as authoritative descriptions of the Christian faith. No other books come close in terms of their proximity to Jesus and the birth of Christianity, or in terms of the clear definition of what it means to be a Christian.

Therefore, the Canon is a collection of authoritative books rather than an authoritative collection of books. The documents are self-authenticating, but that is not merely a personal decision. While each of us has to make that decision personally, each also has to consider the collective voice of the church as well.

But in the end, we do not believe the Scriptures because the church says they are canonical. We believe them because we encounter God in reading or hearing this Word and come to true belief. With anything less than such a faith, it matters little what we say about these writings.

Klyne Snodgrass is professor of biblical literature at North Park Theological Seminary in Chicago, Illinois, and author of The Parable of the Wicked Tenant.

Martin Luther

Martin Luther (1483–1546) was a doctor of sacred theology and a professor in the university. This rough-hewn son of a German peasant never fully abandoned his uncouth ways (at least according to his students). When John Eck opposed him in theological discussion, Luther called him an ass. When men asked him how to deal with spiritual depression, he told them to go to bed with their wives and make love or to go to the field with the ox and spread manure. When Philip Melanchthon, his scrupulous lieutenant, came to him for advice about a moral dilemma, the great reformer exhorted him, “Sin boldly!”

Luther’s peasant boldness enabled him to ride roughshod over the canon of Scripture. In the early 1520s his great Reformation discovery, that God saves by faith not by works, was under attack by the agents of the papacy. One of their most telling weapons was the Epistle of James, with its doctrine of works, epitomized by the text, “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:17). Luther sometimes defended himself by trying to explain the true relationship between faith and works, but once he took a bolder step: he denied that the Epistle of James was written by an apostle. Later, he took the boldest step of all. In his preface to his translation of James he asserted that even if the epistle had been written by an apostle, it did not belong in the Canon.

Luther based his idea on Romans 3:21, where Paul says that the Law and the Prophets bear witness to the righteousness of God. Because Christ is the righteousness of God, Luther concludes that all true Scripture bears witness to him. Here then is Luther’s standard by which to measure any so-called Scripture: Does it preach Christ? Who wrote the document is immaterial. In his preface to James he asserts:

“The true touchstone for testing every book is to discover whether it emphasizes the prominence of Christ or not. All Scripture sets forth Christ (Romans 3) and Paul will know nothing but Christ (1 Corinthians 2). What does not teach Christ is not apostolic, not even if taught by Peter or Paul. On the other hand, what does preach Christ is apostolic, even if Judas, Annas, Pilate, or Herod does it.”

With bold hyperbole, Luther exclaimed that if we had a document from Judas Iscariot that taught justification by faith in Christ, we should esteem it more highly than the present epistle of Saint James. He therefore refused James a place in the canon of his Bible, but said he would not fight with those who accepted it. In fact, his view of James is not widely known because in later editions of his German translation of the Bible, this preface was dropped, and most people forgot his eccentric view of canonicity.

Why does the church accept the 27 books of the New Testament as canon? How do we know there is not some document that may some day be discovered and deserve to be included? Alternatively, how do we know that something has not slipped in that does not really belong?

These questions take on a pressing, even distressing, character when posed in light of the actual development of the Canon in the early church. It was a slow process covering roughly 300 years before the Canon accepted in the church was the same as our 27-book canon. Athanasius’s so-called Easter Letter of 367 is apparently the first official, ecclesiastical decision to that effect. And there were significant differences at earlier stages even among orthodox figures. Why, for instance, did the Shepherd of Hermas, despite initial support, eventually go by the board, while 2 Peter, at first subject to much uncertainty, ultimately found a secure place in the Canon?

All told, how do we know that in accepting the present New Testament, and the authority that goes with it, we are not simply following well-intentioned but nonetheless fallible decisions of people like ourselves?

Criteria Of Canonicity?

It may seem that the solution to this problem lies in establishing certain criteria for determining whether or not a particular book is canonical. However, as promising as this approach is at first glance, it is not viable. History shows that, in fact, the church has not yet been able to establish the criteria (set of criteria) required—not only a necessary, but a sufficient condition.

Apostolic authority. The most frequently cited criterion for canonicity has been apostolic authorship. That is, if an apostle wrote the document in question, it should be included in the Canon. But the difficulties for apostolic authorship or origin as a criterion are apparent.

For example, Mark, Luke-Acts, Hebrews, Jude, and most likely James were not written by apostles. Some scholars have countered this objection by expanding the notion of apostolicity to include those who were close to the circle of apostles. Thus, what they wrote was associated with the authority of a particular apostle. Obviously, such an expansion fatally weakens apostolicity as a criterion of canonicity.

An even greater difficulty is posed by the references to Paul’s “previous” letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor. 5:9) and his letter to the church at Laodicea (Col. 4:16). Note as well a possible allusion to previously written communication in Philippians 3:1. These documents, written by an apostle and evidently on par in authority with Paul’s other canonical letters, are not in the New Testament.

Antiquity. Another proposed criterion has to do with the age of a literary composition—only the earliest documents have been included in the Canon. This is really a variation on apostolicity, and it founders on the same difficulties: the “previous” letter of 1 Corinthians 5:9 is earlier, say, than Hebrews.

Public lection. Some have suggested that only those documents first read aloud and used in public worship are canonical. This, too, encounters difficulty in that documents such as the Shepherd of Hermas and the Didache were used in public worship in the early stages of the church, while no evidence exists for similar use of 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John, or Jude.

Inspiration. Though necessary to canonicity, inspiration does not coincide with it. Paul’s previous letter to the Corinthians and his letter to the Laodiceans carry full apostolic authority and are therefore presumably inspired. Without unduly multiplying nonextant documents, those letters suggest that Paul, along with at least some of the other apostles, produced a somewhat larger volume of inspired material (exactly how much is difficult to say) than has subsequently been included in the Canon.

It seems clear, then, that the church has failed to establish criteria of canonicity. Even more telling, however, is the recognition that in principle all attempts to demonstrate such criteria must fail and ultimately threaten to undermine the canonicity of Scripture. For example, suppose we take x (say, apostolicity) to be a criterion of canonicity. That would mean entering into a historical investigation to identify and circumscribe x. But such a procedure could only mean subjecting the Canon to the relativity of historical study and our fallible human insight. That is, it would destroy the New Testament as canon, as absolute authority. In the final analysis, the attempt to demonstrate criteria of canonicity seeks, from a position above the Canon, to rationalize or generalize about the Canon as a unique, particular historical state of affairs.

Instead, we must recognize the New Testament canon as a self-establishing, self-validating entity. Canonicity is a unique concept. It neither coincides with what is apostolic nor even with what is inspired. Rather, canonical is what belongs to the New Testament, and what belongs to the New Testament is canonical.

God Is Canon

We ought not, then, look for an Archimedean point outside the New Testament canon. Yet, in another respect, the Canon does point back beyond itself—to God, its origin and author.

The collection of New Testament documents is not a historical phenomenon to be explained in terms of purely immanent factors—contingent factors, in turn, without an ultimate explanation. The New Testament is not a collection that “just happened.” Rather, it is that historical phenomenon by which God, the sovereign Architect and Lord of history, asserts and maintains himself as Canon.

With these observations we have a provisional answer to the question of an open or closed canon. In the sense that God is the Author of the whole as well as each of the constituent parts, the New Testament canon is closed or complete.

This conclusion involves an important distinction. The origin of the New Testament canon is not the same as its reception by the church. We must avoid confusing the existence of the Canon with its recognition—what is constitutive (God’s action) with what is reflexive (the church’s action). The activity of the church—statements of church fathers, decrees of councils, and so on, concerning the contents of the New Testament—does not create the Canon.

Such a position, sometimes called the a priori of faith, does not mean Scripture was dropped straight down from heaven. The New Testament canon is bound up with the giving of revelation in history. Without on the one hand abandoning our a priori, or on the other allowing redemptive history to function as a criterion of canonicity in a strict sense, we need to reflect further on that a priori of faith in the light of Scripture. A good place to start is with the whole concept of apostolicity.

Apostles: Christ’S Representatives

The Greek noun apostolos, related to the more common verb apostell (to send, send out), refers in general to a messenger or, more formally, to an envoy or delegate. Traditionally, the New Testament apostle has been understood primarily as a religious figure like a missionary, someone sent to communicate the gospel.

More recently, however, studies in the background of the New Testament have shed new light on the figure of the apostle. In the Judaism contemporary to the writing of the New Testament, the shlîah (from the Hebrew shlîah: to send) had a significance that was legal, not religious. The shlîah was someone authorized to execute a task in the interests of another person or group. He was an authorized, authoritative representative, akin to our power of attorney. Further, the shlîah was identified in a full way with the one who commissioned him; in some instances he was free to take initiatives in discharging his commission. This full authority is reflected in the Talmudic formula that “a man’s shlîah is the same as himself.”

Something of this background is reflected in the figure of the apostle in the New Testament. In John 13:12ff., the issue of authority is prominent (the point, paradoxically, is the authority to serve others, exemplified in Jesus’ washing the disciples’ feet). The focus of verse 16 is the derivative nature of the apostles’ authority—“no servant is greater than his master, nor is an apostolos greater than the one who sent him.” Verse 20 not only expresses this point of derivation but accents the identification of the sender and the one sent: “Whoever accepts anyone I send accepts me; and whoever accepts me accepts the one who sent me.”

At issue, then, is the uniqueness and fullness of apostolic authority. The apostles encountered in the New Testament, with the few exceptions noted in the next paragraph, are “apostles of Christ.” As such they are authorized representatives of Christ, deputized personal exemplifications of his authority. Note, for instance, Galatians 4:14 where Paul says of himself as an angel-apostle (cf. 1:1–2:10) that the Galatians received him “as if I were Jesus Christ himself.”

A certain elasticity does attach to the New Testament usage of apostolos.2 Corinthians 8:23 and Philippians 2:23 (perhaps, too, Acts 14:4, 14) refer in a looser, most likely temporary, ad hoc sense to messengers or representatives sent by a local church for a specific task (“apostles of the churches,” 2 Cor. 8:23). This is in distinction from the apostles of Christ in the strict sense, who are “first” in the (one, universal) church (1 Cor. 12:28; cf. Eph. 4:11). In which sense the reference in Romans 16:7 is to be taken is difficult to say.

Apostles: Witness To The Resurrection

As Christ’s representatives, the apostles are the church’s foundation (Matt. 16:18; Eph. 2:20). But how are they that foundation? The single most-important function of the apostles is their witness bearing (marturia). The focus of apostolic witness, especially in Acts, is Christ’s resurrection, not as an isolated event but in the context of his whole work, especially his death and as the consummation of redemptive history. The apostles testify to the already accomplished redemptive basis of the church. That testimony, specifically, makes the apostles the foundation of the church.

This binding, shlîah-like character of the apostles’ witness is seen in the equation of apostolic proclamation with the Word of God. Paul, for instance, says of the Thessalonians that they received his preaching “not as the word of men, but for what it actually is, the word of God” (1 Thess. 2:13). Most likely, 1 Corinthians 11:23 (“For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you”) points to the exalted Lord himself as the author-bearer of apostolic tradition. According to Galatians 1:12, Paul’s gospel is revelation received directly from Christ; yet, verse 18 intimates, that revelation correlates with the tradition he received through contact with the other apostles, an equation that exists because, ultimately, both come from the exalted Christ.

Apostolic witness, then, is not merely personal testimony. Instead, it is an infallibly authoritative, legally binding deposition, the kind that stands up in court. That witness embodies a canonical principle: it provides the matrix for a new canon, the emergence of a new body of revelation to stand alongside the Old Testament.

Apostles: The Canonical Dimension

Plainly, as the apostles die and pass out of the picture, the need is for the preservation of apostolic witness in and by the church. In fact, the New Testament itself gives indications of an apostolic concern for such preservation.

Already at the time of the apostles their witness is called “tradition” (paradosis). Its authoritative, binding character is seen in the fact that Paul, for instance, commands his readers to “hold firmly” to it (1 Cor. 11:2; 2 Thess. 2:15; cf. 3:6). 2 Thessalonians 2:15 is especially instructive in referring to those traditions passed on “whether by word of mouth or by letter.” Notice that here, shortly after 1 Thessalonians—perhaps the earliest New Testament document—written, as well as oral, apostolic tradition is already in view as authoritative.

The New Testament itself, then, anticipated and initiated a trend. As the apostles died off and their foundational witness was completed, written apostolic witness became increasingly crucial and focal, until it exclusively was the foundational Word of God (along with the Old Testament) on which the church was being built.

This trend corresponds, as just noted, to the intention of Paul. And broadly considered, developments in the church concerning the Canon during the second through fourth centuries complement that apostolic intention. Those developments involve the increasing awareness in the early church of its distance from the apostolic past, and so the increasing awareness of the foundational, revelatory nature of inscripturated apostolic witness. The complement to the apostolic intention, in other words, is postapostolic recognition of the New Testament canon. Further, this process of recognition, answering to an apostolic intention, is the intention of Christ. No one less than the exalted Christ himself is the architect of the process.

Notice, however, how little this undeniable and substantial connection between the apostles and the Canon provides a criterion of canonicity, even in a looser sense. Most of the New Testament documents with nonapostolic authors do display, either on internal grounds or by reliable tradition, a direct tie to one or another of the apostles. But that is not so clearly the case for Jude and not at all for Hebrews. (For that matter, in Hebrews 2:3, the author seems to separate himself from the apostolic circle while emphatically affirming apostolic tradition.)

The Canon And Revelation

This foundational witness of the apostles to the work of Christ brings to light an important characteristic of all verbal revelation: the correlation between redemptive act and revelatory word. God’s word is given to attest and interpret his saving work. This correlation holds true throughout the entire history of redemption, beginning in the Garden of Eden and reaching its climax in the death, exaltation, and return of Christ. Accordingly, the ongoing history of revelation is a strand within redemptive history as a whole; the process of verbal revelation conforms to the contours of that larger history.

Further, the history of redemption has an epochal character. It moves forward in decisive steps, not in a uniform, smoothly evolutionary fashion. Consequently, high points in redemptive history are accompanied by copious outpourings of verbal revelation. Old Covenant revelation, for instance, tends to cluster around critical junctures like the Exodus, key events in the monarchy, the exile, and return of the remnant.

The negative side of this correlation bears particularly on the issue of the Canon and its closing. Times of inactivity in the history of redemption are, correlatively, times of silence in the history of revelation. The rebuilding of the temple and the return of the remnant from exile are the last critical developments before the coming of Christ. After that period there was a pause; redemptive history now stands still until the final surge forward at Christ’s coming.

Similarly, after the exaltation of Christ and the founding of the church, there was a pause or delay in the epochal forward movement of redemptive history. Only one event in that history remains: the return of Christ. Accordingly, following the contemporaneous outpouring of revelation focused on the first coming of Christ, the history of revelation lapses into silence. Confirming that silence is the disappearance of the apostolate, that prophetic institution established by Christ specifically to provide revelatory attestation and interpretation of the redemption consummated in his person and work.

To say that redemptive history is “on hold” until Christ’s return is not to deny the full reality and redemptive significance of what is happening in the church today. Church history, however, is not an extension of redemption, but the reflex of that work, the ongoing application of its benefits. It is not part of the foundation of the church, but the building being erected on the finished, once-for-all redemptive foundation laid by Christ.

As far as the church today is concerned, then, the history of revelation is closed until Christ’s return. The expectation of new revelation, in whatever form, runs counter to the witness of Scripture itself. At issue here is the correlation between redemptive act (in the sense of once-for-all accomplishment) and word revelation. Where the former is lacking, there is no place for the latter. The completion or cessation of revelation is a function of the finished work of Christ (cf. Heb. 1:2).

Recognizing the redemptive-historical character of revelation is crucial to a proper view of the Canon. Revelation does not consist of divinely given information and directives just for me. The impact of revelation on the believer ought to be intimate and personal, but it is not individualistic. In its virtually limitless applications to the circumstances of individual believers of whatever time and place, revelation has a corporate, covenantal character. It is for the one people of God as a whole. To the extent we fall into individualistic misunderstandings of revelation, we will be left with a sense of the insufficiency and incompleteness of the Bible. We will have difficulty in seeing that God’s revelation to his people is complete and that the New Testament canon is closed.

The New Testament Canon Is Closed

We may conclude, then, that the church can be confident its New Testament is complete. There is nothing included that should be excluded, nothing missing that should be included. But does that mean we may never receive another inspired apostolic writing—say, the “previous” letter mentioned in 1 Corinthians 5:9?

First, we ought to appreciate the sheer improbability of such a discovery. It cuts against the reason why God has given Scripture to the church in the first place. It is a matter of tradition that he intends for the church to hold fast and preserve. And the church cannot retain what it does not have.

Also, the church would have to be far less fragmented than it has been for the past 1,000 years for it to recognize and then agree that such a new writing was indeed canonical. Such recognition could hardly claim continuity with what took place in the church during the first four centuries when it was always a matter of deciding about documents that had all along been extant. But now there would be a new document abruptly introduced after nearly 2,000 years.

But suppose, after all, this hypothetical document were discovered, and that it could be competently decided that it ought to be included in the church’s Scriptures. That would still not mean that the present Canon is or had been open or incomplete. Rather, we ought to conclude that the church, by this addition, has been given a new Canon. But just this idea of a new Canon—an abrupt expansion after such a long time of the church’s apostolic foundation—is highly speculative and difficult to square with New Testament teaching.

The Product Of Fallible Men?

Granting the existence of inscripturated revelation, there are three basic positions on the New Testament canon. Two of these involve some form of the inherently self-contradictory notion of an “open” canon.

The New Testament is a human anthology of divinely inspired writings. Strictly speaking, this view denies that God is the Author of Scripture (as a whole). The collective entity is the product of fallible men, not the infallible construct of God. What we have in Scripture ultimately is the “whole counsel of man,” not God.

Inevitably, this view impairs the meaning of the Canon and renders its authority defective. Each inspired document of Scripture does not have its authority or its overall intelligibility in isolation but in relation to the others, within the context provided by the Bible as a whole. All the documents of Scripture together constitute the frame in terms of which any one is to be understood finally and comprehensively. Consequently, to say that frame is humanly fixed precludes talking about the unity of the Bible. It casts a shadow of uncertainty on every single document, and so undercuts the supreme authority of Scripture.

The New Testament is a complete entity shaped by God, but is continually supplemented by additional living prophetic voices in the church. This view involves a dualistic misunderstanding of revelation. In one way or other, a distinction is made between a completed, canonical revelation for the whole church and ongoing private revelations for individual believers or particular groups of believers. The problem with this view is its conflict with the covenantal, redemptive-historical character of all revelation. God does not reveal himself along two tracks, one public and one private.

Certainly we may not dictate to God what he can or cannot do, on occasion, in revealing himself today. We must guard against boxing in the Holy Spirit by our theological constructions. At all times the Spirit is sovereign and free, like the wind, as Jesus says, that “blows wherever it pleases.” In his freedom, however, the Spirit orders his activity, and that order, according to Scripture, does not encourage believers today to seek or otherwise expect forms of extrabiblical revelation.

The New Testament is that complete entity in which, along with the Old Testament, God gives his Word and brings his authority to expression, without restriction, in a definitive and absolute way. This view suggests a self-authenticating Canon—one that God in his providence has given to the church. It is a view of Scripture that is most faithful to the apostolic witness of the New Testament itself.

Admittedly, this view leaves some questions unanswered. Perhaps the most perplexing relates to the number of canonical books: Why, of all the inspired apostolic writings, just these 27? Why not 28 or 26 or some other number—especially when other writings seem credible?

To this quantitative question we must be content to say that these 27 books are what God has chosen to preserve, and he has not told us why. It seems difficult to improve on the comment Calvin made in passing on Ephesians 3:4. “These [books] which the Lord judged to be necessary for his church have been selected by his providence for everlasting remembrance.”

Richard B. Gaffin, Jr., is professor of New Testament at Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Eusebius, Bishop Of Caesarea

Eusebius (280–340) was the kind of man who liked to make lists. The first important list this learned bureaucrat drew up was a table of the paragraphs of the New Testament along with their parallel passages. This early synopsis of the Gospels made it easier to read the entire account of any particular gospel incident.

Eusebius published another list, this one establishing him as “the father of church history” because it was the first comprehensive account of the founding and growth of Christianity. Grouping his material according to the reigns of Rome’s emperors, he tells the story of the succession of the bishops in the most important churches, recounts the development of Christian doctrine through the biographies of theologians, and calls the church to remember its heroes by recounting the triumphs of the martyrs. Eusebius quoted from his sources extensively, often providing the only record of otherwise unknown works. His passion for including everything makes his work a gold mine for those seeking to understand the church’s first 300 years.

Perhaps it was his confidence in his ability as a systematizer that led Eusebius to recommend his creed to the council at Nicaea in 325 as a model of orthodoxy. Unfortunately, his creed was vague on the relationship of Jesus to his father, the crucial point at issue, and caused some to suspect him of heresy. Constantine, the emperor, was an admirer of Eusebius, and protected him with his imperial authority. After the council, a theological guerrilla war broke out with Athanasius on one side, Arius on the other, and Eusebius in the middle. Eusebius seemed to feel that Athanasius was the more dangerous enemy, and used his influence against him. The church eventually came to accept the doctrinal position of Athanasius, but forgave Eusebius for his opposition to the champion of orthodoxy. It praised him for his historical work, and chalked up his mistreatment of Athanasius to a failure to understand a complicated doctrine. After all, Eusebius was a compiler, not an original thinker.

One of the lists Eusebius compiled was that of the various books read as Scripture in the different churches. He divided them into three categories. The books that everyone recognized were the four Gospels and Acts, Paul’s letters, 1 Peter, and 1 John. The books that most churches accepted but some disputed were James, 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John, and Jude. In the class of inauthentic books he put the Shepherd of Hermas, the Apocalypse of Peter, the Didache, and the Epistle of Barnabas. Eusebius did not mention Hebrews specifically, and had no idea what to do with Revelation. Being a good compiler, he simply listed the arguments for and against it.

Eusebius is valuable because he gives us a picture of what the church was thinking about the Canon around 325. Interestingly enough, it was his great opponent, Athanasius, who in 367 first published the list of the books of the New Testament as we know it.

“Isn’t it great that God has given us some additional sayings of Jesus!” said Jim to the other members of his Bible-study group. “Listen to this: ‘Jesus said to them, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, give to God what is God’s, and give to me what is mine.” ’ ”

“Wait a minute,” Cindy responded. “My Bible leaves out that last clause.”

“But that’s just the point,” Jim insisted. “Matthew, Mark, and Luke don’t include it, but it’s right here in the Gospel of Thomas, an extra New Testament book found in Egypt over 40 years ago!”

Given the discovery of 49 ancient religious books (including the Gospel of Thomas) near Nag Hammadi in Upper Egypt in 1945, why shouldn’t Jim believe we now have additional authentic information about Jesus’ words and deeds? And given the 1947 discovery of hundreds of manuscripts near the northwest shore of the Dead Sea, shouldn’t we at least consider the possibility of expanding the Old Testament?

These questions, and others like them, relate to the process of establishing the Canon of Holy Scripture.

The Measure Of Scripture

Actually, the word canon comes from the Greek kanon, which in turn comes from the Hebrew qaneh (reed, measuring rod). As is well known, the Old Testament canon consists of 39 books. It derives ultimately from the three-part Hebrew canon of Judaism, which includes the same 39 books but counts and arranges them differently (thus explaining references to a 22-or 24-book canon). These three parts—the Torah (law, instruction), Nevi’im (prophets), and Ketuvim (writings)—are referred to by the acronym of Tanak.

Ancient Jewish witnesses, beginning with the Old Testament itself, provide ample and formidable testimony to the origins and development of the Canon among God’s people. Exodus 24:7; Joshua 8:30–31; 2 Kings 14:6; 22:11–13; 23:3; Nehemiah 8:8–9, 14–17; 10:28–39; 13:1–3 all take for granted a written Torah, in whole or in part, that has divine authority and is therefore to be obeyed. During the exile, the prophet Daniel refers to a portion of the writings of Jeremiah, his older contemporary, as among “the Scriptures” (Dan. 9:2). And after the exile, the formula “As it is written” (or its equivalent) began to gain prominence (2 Chron. 30:5, 18; Ezra 3:4; Neh. 8:15). It is clear, then, that substantial sections of the books later gathered as the Tanak were early recognized as authoritative.

In about 190 B.C. Ben Sira, the last Palestinian Jewish author known by name until the New Testament period, wrote an apocryphal (“hidden, esoteric”) book of wisdom later called Ecclesiasticus. Parts of this book hint that most of the books of the Torah and Nevi’im were recognized as canonical by that time (although none of the Minor Prophets is mentioned by name). In addition, Ecclesiasticus 39:1 mentions “the law of the Most High …, the wisdom of all the ancients, and … prophecies,” which may have paved the way for the later threefold division of the Hebrew canon. Ben Sira’s grandson wrote a prologue to Ecclesiasticus (about 130 B.C.) in which he gives three designations to such a division: “the law and the prophets and the others who followed after them,” “the law and the prophets and the other books of the fathers,” and “the law and the prophecies and the rest of the books.”

Whether either Ben Sira or his grandson conceived of a “canon” in the strict sense is debatable, but by the first century A.D., at the very latest, it is clear that the concept of a closed canon had been formulated and its present limits defined. Philo of Alexandria (c. 20 B.C. to C. A.D. 50) refers to “laws, and … prophets, and psalms and other books.” He further insists on the immutability of the laws of Moses and never quotes from any apocryphal work as Scripture. Jesus Christ himself, a contemporary of Philo, mentions “the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms” as ultimately finding their fulfillment in his own person (Luke 24:44).

Selecting The Books Of The Old Testament

The earliest attestation (late first century A.D.) of a 24-book Hebrew canon is the apocryphal 2 Esdras 14:38–46, where it is stated that Ezra was commanded to dictate to five scribes the contents of 94 books, of which 70 were to be read only by the wise (thus esoteric works) and 24 were to be made public (thus canonical works).

The Jewish historian Josephus (c. A.D. 37–100) was the first to distinguish explicitly what we would call “canonical” books from those we would call “noncanonical.” He refers to 22 books (probably a reduction of the 24 by combining Ruth with Judges and Lamentations with Jeremiah), and declares they were written from the time of the death of Moses to the reign of Artaxerxes (who ruled in the days of Ezra). He further states that books composed after that time are not of equal value or authority with those written earlier “because the exact succession of the prophets ceased”; and he affirms that no one has added or subtracted or changed so much as a single syllable of the earlier (canonical) books, which every Jew instinctively regards as divine commands to be obeyed completely. Allowing for a bit of hyperbolic propagandizing, we can hardly overestimate the importance of this passage—especially when we remember that Josephus was a Pharisee writing after the destruction of Herod’s temple and who therefore represented the mainstream Judaism of his time.

Like Jesus and Philo, Josephus refers to the third section of the Canon as psalms to God and practical precepts to men. In so doing he was simply stressing the first, longest, and most important book in the list of the Ketuvim, a term first used by Gamaliel II at Jamnia. It is often asserted that at the end of the first century one or more rabbinical councils was held at Jamnia (Jabneh, north of Ashdod near the Mediterranean), where the Hebrew canon was finally established. But recent research has concluded that canonical discussions at Jamnia were limited to Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs, that both books had circulated long since, and that Jewish (and Christian) debate about the extent of the Old Testament canon continued long afterward. Akiba ben Joseph, an influential rabbi during the Jamnia discussions, is reported to have made an impassioned plea on behalf of the Song of Songs: “The whole world is not worth the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel. All the Ketuvim are holy, and the Song of Songs is the holy of holies!”

Early Christian witnesses substantially confirm Jewish testimony with respect to the development of canonical understanding among devout elements of the believing community. Justin Martyr (died A.D. 164) quoted freely from the books of the Jewish canon but never from the Apocrypha. Melito of Sardis provides the earliest Christian list of Old Testament books (c. A.D. 170), omitting only Esther (whether deliberately or accidentally it is impossible to say). The learned monk Jerome (died A.D. 420) also affirmed the 22-book canon and stated in no uncertain terms that the “apocryphal” books (Jerome was the first to use the adjective to describe noncanonical works) were not divinely authoritative. Jerome’s witness is crucial because of his impressive knowledge of and expertise in the biblical languages.

Unfortunately, Augustine of Hippo (A.D. 354–430) was not as discerning, due to his unfamiliarity with Hebrew and his failure to cautiously assess the Septuagint (an early Greek translation of the Tanak). So it is not surprising that he added certain apocryphal works to the Jewish canon—an expanded canonical view accepted by the Synod of Hippo (A.D. 393) and the Third Synod of Carthage (A.D. 397) under his influence.

Interestingly enough, Augustine asserted such works were held as canonical not by the Jews but by the church. His statement flies in the face of the facts, however. Rejection of the Apocrypha and acceptance of only the 22-book (or 24-book) Old Testament canon was common among the fathers of the church. But the schizophrenic tendency among many was to hold to a strict canon theologically while using a broader “canon” devotionally and homiletically, resulting in a gradual obliteration of the distinction between Canon and Apocrypha. The most popular of the latter, often read publicly in the churches, became quasi-canonical, and for a thousand years the formidable influence of Augustine reigned supreme.

The onset of the Protestant Reformation, however, brought about a change that permanently disturbed the canonical debate. Martin Luther’s doctrine of sola Scriptura (“the Bible alone”) rejected church tradition and forced a reversion to the insistence of Jerome that only the books of the Hebrew canon possessed divine authority. After all, only they were acknowledged by Christ (Luke 11:50–51), the apocryphal works do not proclaim him, and the New Testament itself—which quotes from the Old Testament Scriptures nearly 300 times—never quotes an apocryphal book as though it were Scripture. Jesus and the apostles appealed only to the Hebrew canon, and it was the Jews alone who had been “entrusted with the very words of God” (Rom. 3:2).

At the same time, the early Reformers did not reject the Apocrypha totally and for every purpose, since centuries of use had conferred on them a semi-authoritative status. But the Catholic church, which had long held to the canonicity of the Apocrypha, decreed at the fourth sitting of the Council of Trent (April 8, 1546) that the apocryphal books (excepting only the Prayer of Manasseh and 1 and 2 Esdras) were equal in authority and canonicity to the Old Testament, and that anyone who claimed otherwise was to be declared anathema (accursed). Thus, to this day the Old Testament canon remains seven books longer in the Roman Catholic Bible than in that of the Protestants.

The New Testament Canon

Heady excitement generated by Jesus’ resurrection led inevitably to the writing and, ultimately, collection of certain apostolic books that would form an incipient Christian canon to be added to that of the Jews. Yet the contents of the New Testament—the 27 books that the spiritually sensitive members of the worldwide Christian community would come to recognize as canonical—were not established for nearly 300 years after the last New Testament book was written.

The criteria for including these books in the New Testament canon were the same as for inclusion in that of the Old—antiquity, inherent authority, and the like—but with a new wrinkle or two. Christocentricity now received paramount attention. Apostolic authorship—or, lacking that, apostolic authority—also became an indispensable condition. Just as in early Judaism when the Hebrew canon was considered closed when it was recognized that the period of classical prophecy was over, so too in early Christianity the New Testament canon was considered closed when it was eventually recognized that the divine authority resident in the apostolic writings could not be reproduced.

Ultimately, then, canonicity was based not on human decision but on divine inspiration: recognized intrinsic authority precedes canonicity. If it is possible for 1 Timothy 5:18 to quote Deuteronomy 25:4 as “Scripture,” it is equally possible for the same text to quote Luke 10:7 as “Scripture.” If authoritative prophetic texts were expected to be read aloud in Jewish synagogues (Luke 4:16–21), so also authoritative apostolic texts were expected to be read in Christian congregations (1 Cor. 14:37; Col. 4:16; 1 Thess. 5:27; Rev. 1:3,11). And if certain prophecies of Jeremiah could be referred to as part of “the Scriptures” by one of his contemporaries (Dan. 9:2), so could certain letters of Paul be classed among “the other Scriptures” by one of his contemporaries (2 Peter 3:16).

Ancient Christian witnesses concur, although at first with understandable caution. Clement of Rome (c. A.D. 96) quotes Jesus’ words in parallel with Old Testament texts and gives them equal authority, but he does not cite the New Testament with the same introductory formulae used for Old Testament citations. Ignatius of Antioch (early second century) intimates that there was a collection of Paul’s letters in his time. And Polycarp of Smyrna (c. A.D. 115), among others, recognizes certain of the apostolic letters as Scripture.

Exclusively Christian Scriptures

Efforts to form a New Testament canon received a push from an unexpected source: heretical movements that threatened Christian orthodoxy in the second century. Ironically, Marcion of Sinope (c. A.D. 140; see p. 27) was the first to provide a canon, however deficient, of exclusively Christian Scriptures. Rejecting the Old Testament outright, he included only ten Pauline letters and a drastically edited version of Luke.

Marcion’s canon triggered a vigorous response. Justin Martyr, who mentioned Marcion by name, referred to the “memoirs” of the apostles, also known as “Gospels”—the first use of the term gospel to designate a book. He pointed out that the Gospels were read in church services weekly together with “the compositions of the prophets” and quoted Old Testament and apostolic texts as equally authoritative. Although we cannot be certain as to whether Justin knew the Gospel of John, it seems likely that he did since one of his pupils, Tatian, compiled the Diatessaron (“by means of four”), the earliest harmony of the four Gospels (c. A.D. 160). Tatian’s work is significant in that he assumes the existence of but four authoritative Gospels—no more, no less. A bit later Irenaeus of Lyons (c. 178–200) “proved” that there were only four Gospels by observing that, just as there are four points of the compass and four principal winds, so also the worldwide church appropriately rests on four pillars (that is, Gospels). In addition, Irenaeus affirmed, the four living creatures in Revelation correspond to the four aspects of the person of Jesus in the gospel writers.

In 1740 the Italian historian Muratori published an incomplete manuscript that he had earlier discovered. Popularly known as the Muratorian Canon, it dates from the late second century. A few of the non-Pauline letters were omitted, but this is perhaps due to the fragmentary nature of the manuscript. It specifically rejected the writings of various heretical groups and, although it included the apocryphal book of Wisdom as well as a pseudepigraphic work called the Apocalypse of Peter, it issued a stern warning against the Shepherd of Hermas as too recent to be considered canonical. (Unfortunately, Irenaeus quoted the Shepherd with the formula “Scripture says,” indicating that Christian writings other than our 27 New Testament books were often reckoned as canonical during this period.)

Tertullian, however, insisted on apostolicity as the major criterion of canonicity. Clement was the first to clearly use the words “covenant” or “testament” in a literary sense in reference to the New Testament writings as well as to the Old Testament, and he cited the New Testament as Scripture more frequently than he did the Old.

As for Origen, he classified sacred writings into three categories: acknowledged, disputed, and spurious. He included 21 New Testament books in the first group, 6 (Hebrews, James, 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John, Jude) in the second, and various heretical “gospels” in the third. He further paved the way for eventual acceptance of the disputed works by stating that Jude, for example, though of doubtful apostolic authorship, was “full of words of heavenly grace.” The Didache, the Shepherd of Hermas, and the so-called Epistle of Barnabas he considered authoritative, but it is doubtful whether he considered any of them as fully canonical.

The earliest known recognition of the 27 books of the New Testament as alone canonical, to which nothing is to be added and from which nothing is to be subtracted, is in the list preserved by Athanasius (A.D. 367). The Synod of Hippo (A.D. 393) and the Third Synod of Carthage (A.D. 397) duly acquiesced, again probably under the influence of the redoubtable Augustine. Thus led (as we believe) by divine Providence, scholars during the latter half of the fourth century settled for all time the limits of the New Testament canon. The 27 books of Matthew through Revelation constitute that New Testament, which possesses divine authority equal to that of the Old.

Subsequent skirmishes in the battle for the New Testament continued to erupt, however. Throughout much of his life, Martin Luther (see p. 34) continued to express reservations, alternately strong and weak, about Hebrews, James, Jude, and Revelation, and to the end of his days he considered James “a right strawy epistle.” His doubts ultimately led him to suggest that the New Testament canon be narrowed (as had properly been the result with respect to the Old Testament canon, due to his attacks against the apocryphal books).

John Calvin tended to be much more moderate in his discussions of New Testament authority. For example, his opinion that 2 Peter was perhaps composed not by Peter himself (but by one of his disciples, and at his command) did not for Calvin diminish its right to be called canonical.

A Closed Canon?

Is the Canon, then—the present 66 books of the Old and New Testaments—closed? The answer is a resounding yes. The closing of the Old Testament canon probably occurred at least a century before the birth of Jesus, and the closing of the New took place in the late fourth century. No longer are we in a position to reassess the second-century process, undertaken by godly believers who were intimates of the apostles themselves. Their work ultimately resulted in what we believe to have been the divinely superintended choice of the books of the Jewish and Christian canons that constitute our Bible. The closing of the two canons and their amalgamation into one are historical watersheds that it would be presumptuous to disturb.

“All Scripture”—neither more nor less than what we have—“is God-breathed and is [therefore] useful” (2 Tim. 3:16). The Bible alone, and the Bible in its entirety, constitutes the total Canon for the church universal.

Ronald Youngblood is professor of Old Testament and Hebrew at Bethel Seminary West (San Diego, Calif.), translator-editor of the New International Version of the Bible, and associate editor of the NIV Study Bible.

Marcion

Marcion (85–160) felt the world had many flaws, chief among which were grasshoppers, crocodiles, and sex. He could not believe the Being who had created these things was good. They must have been the product of a sick mind.

Another product of a sick mind, he thought, was the Old Testament. “Look at all the lying, pillage, and killing,” he said. “Look at the favoritism: Yahweh selects a race of idolatrous schemers to be his chosen people, and calls an adulterous, murdering brigand ‘a man after my own heart.’ No,” concluded Marcion, “the one who made the world and inspired the Old Testament could not be good because Jesus himself had said ‘a good tree does not bring forth evil fruit.’ The Old Testament god may be the powerful creator, but he is not the good heavenly father Jesus proclaimed.”

Marcion’s eccentric views might not have made much of an impact except that he was a wealthy ship owner from Sinope, on the Black Sea. He presented himself to the Roman church around 140, seeking membership. He was the son of a bishop, but had been excommunicated by his own father. Nevertheless, the Roman church accepted him, perhaps influenced by his million-dollar gift. While in Rome, Marcion developed his ideas and won disciples to his views. He taught that Jesus had suddenly appeared, full grown, at the synagogue in Capernaum in A.D. 29, teaching the previously unknown existence of a good God who wanted to save men and free them from the material world. Marcion’s Jesus had opposed the work of the Old Testament God saying, “I have not come to fulfill the law but to destroy it.” This savior dissociated himself from the messiah foreseen by the prophets, proclaiming God’s universal grace and love for all humanity. True followers of this unearthly Jesus must abstain from meat and wine, live in celibacy, and expect to be martyred.

Marcion said he had learned about this Jesus by reading Paul’s epistles and the Gospel Paul wrote, which had been mistakenly assigned to Luke. Of course, during his life Paul had been opposed by the Judaizers, and Marcion claimed that, after the apostle’s death, his opponents had added pro-Jewish passages to his writings and produced the spurious Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and John. Marcion said Christians must reject the Old Testament and accept as their Bible only ten of Paul’s letters and Luke’s Gospel with all the Jewish sections removed.

When Marcion’s views became widely known, the Roman church recoiled in horror. To say that there were different Gods in the Old and New Testaments opened the door to polytheism. To deny the Old Testament cut Christianity off from its roots. To impugn the fourfold gospel and the catholic epistles was to reject the Word of God. Marcion was again excommunicated and his money returned. He became a traveling preacher and established Marcionite churches throughout the East.

Marcion thought he was recalling the church to pristine purity, purging it of Jewish corruptions. Instead, his teaching forced the church to reaffirm its commitment to the Old Testament, and to take the first steps toward the establishment of the Canon.

Historical vignettes by Charles E. White, associate professor of Christian thought and history at Spring Arbor College and author of The Beauty of Holiness.

Shortly after Pat Robertson resigned his ministry to enter politics, Jerry Falwell resigned his leadership of the politically charged Moral Majority to return to full-time pastoral ministry. Just when one seemingly has had his fill of politics, the other is off and running for the White House. Both events lead me to conclude that it is time we stop trying to save America.

By that I mean it is time to stop trying to save the America of yesteryear—the America often referred to as “a Christian nation.” It is time to give up that expression and come to grips with the America of today and tomorrow.

A Partly Christian Nation

To do that, we must dispel the faulty notion that America ever was a Christian nation. Certainly the Pilgrims came here to be “a city set upon a hill” that would shine the light of Christ’s kingdom. But it is no secret that many of our famous Founding Fathers were deists (at best), not Christians. Their ideal was a land of religious freedom—not a Christian land. They gave us a Constitution that specifically guarantees the freedom to follow any faith—or none at all. And the church flourished here in large part because of its divorce from the civil domain.

This is in full accord with God’s action in establishing the New Covenant. In Christ he has created a new people called out from all peoples, nations, and lands. Part of the genius of the church is its capacity to operate apart from set geographical boundaries, cultural biases, or national governments. We are the church of the New Covenant, not Israel of the Old. So, theologically, as well as constitutionally, there can be no such thing as a Christian nation.

Yet even if we could turn America into a Christian nation, such efforts would not be in the best interests of the church. Impassioned cries for school prayer take little notice that the model prayers suggested do considerable damage to any Christian concept of the Deity and to the practice of prayer. Certain Christian action committees may weigh in as heavyweights on the political right, but their oft-stated agendas calling for a strong national defense completely ignore Jesus’ call to be peacemakers. It is time we recognize that communism may not be as great a threat to the American church as compromise with a nationalistic agenda. Attempts to save a “Christian America” may Well contribute to the church in this country losing its soul.

A Greater Cause

There is one final reason why this cause must be given up. A greater cause beckons: that of actually saving America. For some time the prophets in our midst have been telling us we are embarking upon a post-Christian era in this land. Missiologists claim only three other countries have more unchurched inhabitants than this nation. We must face this reality not with sentimental yearnings for a simpler, more sacred day gone by, but with renewed missionary efforts in our own neighborhoods.

This is not a call for evangelicals to abandon social causes nor forsake issues of morality. Nor is it a call to retreat from the political arena in order to effect justice and compassion. It is, however, a call for evangelicals to become more evangelistic. And it is a call for us to be clear about our goals: It is not “America, a Christian nation,” that we are trying to save, it is Christ’s kingdom that we are seeking to establish. Where the kingdom calls culture into account let us sound the trumpet loudly and clearly. But let us no longer answer to the reveille bugled by yearnings for a supposed simpler day when the church and the nation shared the same agenda.

I find no joy or satisfaction in saying such things. I love my country as much today as I did as a kid when we began each school day pledging our allegiance to the flag. And I am fearful for my nation—for its character, for its values, for its continued presence in a dangerous world.

Yet now I fear more for the church in this country if we do not let go of one battle in order to enter another. We need to abandon a reactionary mentality, a cultural-mission mentality, a national-defense mentality. Our children must see this if they are s to recognize in our faith anything more than an available religious option added to the basic package of the culture’s values. And those whom we are seeking to save need to recognize these differences if they are genuinely to hear Christ’s claim to lordship.

I cannot assess the wisdom of Pat Robertson’s run for the White House. I do hope, however, that his candidacy does not strengthen the church’s platform to save America. Instead, we need to take up the battle of proclaiming and living out Christ’s saving Word in the midst of a pagan land.

By Rick McKinniss, pastor of the Kensington (Conn.) Baptist Church, a member of the Baptist General Conference.

SPEAKING OUT offers responsible Christians a forum. It does not necessarily reflect the views of CHRISTIANITY TODAY.

Somewhere, 100 years from now, a fervent, bright-eyed Ph.D. candidate will probably be trying to figure out what happened—religiously speaking—during the year just concluded.

Working to impress his supervisors (let’s assume our graduate student is male, although by 2088 some clever wordsmith will probably have concocted a nonsexist word replacing the cumbersome “he/she”), our imaginary researcher will zealously plow through every major magazine and newspaper of the era, trying to get a feel for the religious pulse of America, circa 1987.

And what will he find?

Well, if he limits himself to the secular press, he will undoubtedly conclude there were only two significant (although vastly contrasting) religious events in America during 1987: the Bakker saga, and the visit of the Pope.

But if I could be there with him, I would implore him not to be too influenced by the headlines. I would tell him (just as much as I do my nonbelieving contemporaries) that what God really does in the world seldom makes the front page. In fact, it usually goes completely unnoticed.

In some ways, of course, our researcher will have a better perspective than I could ever have as I write this. A hundred years of history will have made its own judgments. Who among us, for example, can say whether the PTL scandal marks the beginning of the disintegration of the evangelical movement, or the start of a new era of responsibility among evangelicals, or only a temporary embarrassment of no lasting impact? Who can say whether future historians will trace a twenty-first century renaissance of American Catholicism to the Pope’s visit?

My point is simply this: God usually sees history much differently than we do. “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going” (John 3:8). God is sovereign and he is at work, but his workings often are hidden and mysterious. That which dazzles and preoccupies the world is seldom the mainstream of God’s work.

That truth is first of all a warning. It is a warning against becoming panicky when events seem to go against us and against the cause of the gospel. Like the patriarch Joseph, we need to realize that often what man intends for evil, God intends for good. Only the eye of faith can see that.

It is a warning also against allowing our priorities to be reordered by contemporary events rather than by the Word of God. We evangelicals would like to think we are free from that danger. However, we all too easily fall into the trap of allowing our agenda to be determined and governed by the latest political, social, or economic events. If Satan cannot destroy us, he is just as happy to divert us.

Perhaps we especially need this warning during a major election year. God alone knows what surprises 1988 will hold for the American electorate. One thing seems certain, however: The so-called born-again voter will be subject to all sorts of pressures and impassioned appeals from all sides. Will evangelicals escape the heady temptations of selfish power and influence, or will we allow them to reorder and distort our priorities?

But if there is a warning in the fact that God’s way of looking at events is usually different from ours, there is also an encouragement: it reminds us that what God does will have lasting significance. That is not true of most things that capture the headlines; events move on, and today’s lead story fades. (Who among us could list off the tops of our heads the events—secular or religious—that captured the headlines in 1888?)

There is also encouragement in that it reminds us that our individual lives as Christ’s people have eternal significance. Most of us will never grab the headlines or participate in events that are considered earthshaking. Sometimes we may selfishly yearn for that kind of ego gratification, but trying to please both ego and God is ultimately impossible. Faithfulness to Christ is what matters, and it is what will matter a century from now.

JOHN N. AKERS