Saturday, November 29, 2014

The Pragmatic Logic of Canon Formation


(I would like to thank Scott Yakimow for making me aware of Peirce, Semiotics, and Pragmaticism. After hearing him present two papers and going through a class of his on semiotics, I am still an aggressive amateur. Therefore all the things that I do understand about the field I owe to him; whereas all the mistakes are proudly my own.

Many Christians are troubled with the historical process of canon formation. Many want to believe that the Bible fell straight from heaven and was simply discovered by the early church in the style of Joseph Smith’s discovery of the golden plates. Others value church tradition as inspired and argue that because the apostolicity of the books, these were the obvious choices decided by the followers of the apostles. Further conspiracy theorists – most recently with Dan Brown in their company – think that what should be included and what should not was decided by church elites to put down the masses at the council of Nicaea. The reason for all of this speculation is that the actual story of canon formation is far less exciting. There were never meetings to decide what ought to be included in the canon of the New Testament and what should be excluded. The process was far more gradual based upon general use and practice. What bothers people about this is not so much that it is not exciting, but that the process was so dependent upon the usage of Christian communities so that it seems random. The concern is one of authority/inspiration of scripture. If people were the key in deciding which books ought to be included and excluded from the Bible, it seems less likely that these particular books were inspired by God. This essay applies Pragmaticism as depicted by Charles Sanders Peirce – as applied by Peter Ochs and Scott Yakimow – to show that while the process was not deliberate in a Cartesian propositional sense, it did have good pragmatic logic and that at the end of the day, this process is how most decisions are made based upon habit rather than formal reason.

This project is therefore conjectural. In order for it to function, I am applying a theory that was developed in the late 19th-early 20th centuries to discussions and texts from the 1st-5th centuries. Whenever this is done, it has to be very carefully applied. It is bad scholarship to tacitly assume that one’s own logic is consistent with all logics that have come before and therefore can be applied to any other human at any other time. This is a Cartesian error known as “internalism.” All thinkers use logic – as Wayne Meeks has pointed out, the things that seem to “make sense” are based upon a logical framework and that framework needs to be proved.[1]  These theoretical frameworks are historically bound. However, just because we can’t assume that all people thought in a manner developed in the modern era, there is no reason to conversely think they couldn’t have thought in that manner. All inquiries into the past must use theoretical bases, most all of which are modern conceptions. Further, while there are ancient frameworks of knowledge, the questions that we, as modern thinkers, ask are essentially different than the questions asked by ancient thinkers. Therefore, it is no surprise that we need to use modern frameworks to understand modern questions to ancient texts. Given this caveat, I find Peirce’s pragmatic framework helpful because it can best explain the historic phenomenon we know to have occurred – it does not change the historic phenomenon, it only enlightens it for us as readers to address new questions.

Further, a fundamental view of pragmaticism is that ideas can be used in ways that the original author could not have imagined. This is summarized well by Scott Yakimow:
As an additional issue, I am concerned that such a restriction of claims to particular space-time occurrences itself goes against a pragmatic logic of vagueness which recognizes the possible applicability of propositions or discrete claims in ways hitherto unperceived. It is possible that such claims may take on unexpected force later on and yield not only accurate portrayals of the world at hand but also of one’s relationship to God and can function to create new habits of thought an action in unpredictable ways. After all, for Peirce, the import of a proposition is in what it conceivably could result in as long as it is in the realm of real possibilities. I take this to be the import of the statement [from Peirce] like the following: “Pragmaticism makes the ultimate intellectual purport of what you please to consist in conceived conditional resolutions, or their substance; and therefore, the conditional propositions, with their hypothetical antecedents, in which such resolutions consist, being of the ultimate nature of meaning, must be capable of being true, that is, of expressing whatever there be which is such as the proposition expresses, independently of being thought to be so in any judgment, or being represented to be so in any other symptom of any man or men. But that amounts to saying that possibility is sometimes of a real kind.”[2]
Here, Peirce is discussing the possible meanings that can be extrapolated from an A-reasoning, through his theory of vagueness that empowers meanings that can be multiform, and even contradictory. This can be done so long as those situations are found in the real. The way to ensure something is “real” is its practical application – as this paper will attempt to apply the theory to the process of canonization as a “real” issue that was being addressed.

To show the unease that many feel with canon formation, consider how the development of canon is still taught in some textbooks. Some scholars put together hypothetical qualifying categories that all books had to “pass” in order to be included in the New Testament. These categories are presented as 1) apostolicity, 2) catholicity, 3) antiquity, 4) orthodoxy.[3] These categories were even taught to me as an undergraduate in my first “History of Christianity” class. This was presented, I now realize, to try and make the process propositional. Some books were antilegoumena because they struggled to reach all of these categories. The books then could gain some authority as truth claims, because they were based upon truth claims that would logically coincide with inspiration.

The problem with this analysis is that it has no basis in historical analysis. There is no place where we have any writer challenging a work on these four criteria. Further, in the way that it is presented – as qualifying categories – not even a single one is used. There was never a flat statement that all books of the New Testament had to meet X criterion. To be fair, Eusebius does use the term antilegoumena – but he does not use it in the sense of a value judgment, he simply uses the term to report that some books are disputed. In fact, the actual discussion of which books were accepted and which were not was merely reported on by usage. Those books that were universally used were the same ones which made it into the New Testament. Consider Eusebius famous discussion of the books of the New Testament:
At this point it seems reasonable to summarize the writings of the New Testament which have been quoted. In the first place should be put the holy tetrad of the Gospels. To them follows the writing of the Acts of the Apostles. After this should be reckoned the Epistles of Paul. Following them the Epistle of John called the first, and in the same way should be recognized the Epistle of Peter. In addition to these should be put, if it seems desirable, the Revelation of John. These belong to the recognized (homolegoumena) books. Of the disputed (antilegoumena) books which are nevertheless known to most are the Epistle called of James, that of Jude, the second Epistle to Peter, and the so-called second and third Epistles of John which may be the work of the evangelist or of some other with the same name. Among the books which are not accepted must be reckoned the Acts of Paul, the work entitled the Shepherd, the Apocalypse of Peter, and in addition to them the letter called of Barnabas and the so-called Teachings of the Apostles. And in addition, as I said, the Revelation of John, if this view is right.[4]
Note that Eusebius’s language hinges around usage. These are the ones that are accepted by all (homolegoumena) because there is unanimity of practice. Further, there are some that are rejected by most all – again a measure of practice rather than hypothetical principles.

There certainly were some people who were opposed to using certain texts due to their character. Marcion, most famously, used only the works of Paul and sections of the Gospel of Luke. It is unclear how much of the New Testament Marcion had available, but it is certainly clear he did have the Old Testament available and deliberately chose to exclude it. However, he did not do that based upon a logical principle – even though he is frequently accused as such – he did that based upon what worked for him in praxis. He could not proclaim Paul’s letters and the Old Testament – he found them too different to be presenting a consistent message. Therefore, we are in the same position – things were included or excluded based upon their practical use.

This process was absolutely practical and this is where Pragmaticism might be helpful in explaining what happened and why it occurred in this manner. Pragmaticism is distinct from Cartesianism in that Cartesian thought asks for truth claims about a particular issue that can be directly stated. These truths are universal and therefore apply to all situations. The problem with this is not so much that such a thing could exist – it surely could – it simply is unclear how a human could ever know this. Peter Ochs explains this problem:
This is, in other words, a self-referring and self-legitimating cognition. Within the theory of perception, this would mean that among our perceptions are those that indicate to us, at once, at that there is something there and that it is this (or has this quality). The brunt of Peirce’s critique is that such cognitions would be immune from any criticism or reevaluation (since any criticism would belong to a separate cognition), that if non-falsifiable they could not at the same time count as truth claims, and that the general belief that warrants them (that there are such cognitions) would have to presuppose them; that, since, self-referring cognitions could be warranted only be self-referring cognitions, the claims of intuitionism are circular and thus not truth-claims but mere assertions.[5]
Ochs points out that any propositional claim here assumes that humans have the ability to make and know them. Ochs calls this kind of thinking “foundationalist” and Yakimow summarizes this very quotation to challenge it in regard to the variance among people and situations:
If this [foundationalism] were true, then one could know something “as it is” or the “thing-in-itself” as it exists objectively without regard for any given context or the interpretive lens of the individual knower. The knower would then attain knowledge that is independent of any inherited tradition of practice, knowing as God alone knows.[6]
Here, we see the challenge of Cartesian knowledge. It assumes that people can know what is completely “true” or “false” outside of their own circumstances. This is certainly possible for God, but it is far less sure that those of us in a sinful world can attain this same confidence.  

Applying this to the development of canon, what one is expecting in a Cartesian sense is that the early Church could have had this type of knowledge. They could have known by divine fiat which books should be included and which should not be included. They would have seemingly known which authors were “inspired” and which were not. This is a practical impossibility for a variety of reasons. First, the earliest groups had no writings at all (it is possible they had a Septuagint – the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible – but they did not have any Jesus movement writings) and did not seem to see a problem with that. Second, when the books were distributed, very few chose among a variety of books – most communities only had one or two books of the New Testament and possibly a few that are not in the New Testament. The communities generally did not have that many writings at all, making the idea that they could have knowledge about which were “true” or “false” by logical analysis silly. They could not evaluate books they did not have. Third, the concept of canon took some time to develop. It was not until Marcion – and indeed as a reaction to Marcion – that we see any communities attempting to create two classes of writings – some that are our “measure” (canon) and some that are just good reading (and perhaps some that were bad reading – but those have always existed in every community). Irenaeus, for example presents that there should be 4 gospels, but only 4 gospels in response to what he understood about the way Valentinians used other texts. Therefore, it really was not possible for this early Christian group to make the logical assertions – based upon a Cartesian sense of true knowledge outside of practical application – to make a logical declarative view of which books were “in” and which were “out.” The early church did not know which books were “inspired” (if they ever used such a term) and which were “human” – it only could discover by simply trying them out. It should be noted that there was the concept of books being special – given the scriptures of the Old Testament - but to apply that concept to new books, while it might have been expected, was certainly unknown as to which books deserved such an honor.

The logic of Pragmaticism is based around the idea that knowledge is only gained locally as it is applied. Pragmaticism does not deny that there is a truth in the world, what it does, though, is argue that rather than foundationally believing it can be obtained, it argues that all knowledge is obtained locally. In logical analysis, there is usually relatively little problem with the argument that something is true for a particular community. The problem arises when then that one community is universalized to the larger communities. That is an issue that Pragmaticism avoids by simply focusing upon the local character of knowledge. Here Yakimow explains Peirce’s interest in such a thing:
Given that a corollary of this observation is that the inherited habits of thought and action of the pragmatist herself are also situated historically, pragmatic claims need to be situationed in the milieu out of which they arose, and that milieu is explicitly described by Pierce as Cartesian modernism.[7]
Pragmaticism uses the language of Cartesian propositions because as humans we mostly have to, but does so by dividing it into A and B reasonings (described below). The point is that all knowledge is dependent upon situations. This is explained by Yakimow that Foundationalism fails because all knowledge is “pegged” or tied to the one interpreting it:
If this [foundationalism] were true, then one could know something “as it is” or the “thing-in-itself” as it exists objectively without regard for any given context or the interpretive lens of the individual knower. The knower would then attain knowledge that is independent of any inherited tradition of practice, knowing as God alone knows. Instead of this, Ochs sees cognitive judgments as the basis for propositional claims. Per Peirce’s semiotic, the meaning of the judgments only arises relative to its interpretant. An interpretant is a habit of thought or action, and it yields a particular trajectory of thought that serves to make a propositional claim understandable. Moreover, it “pegs” that claim to a particular individual’s understanding of the world, and through her, to the understanding of the community in which she operates.[8]
A person’s habits or actions – here described as an “interpretant” are the basis for all knowledge. This is the more common view that one’s “worldview” (if such a term means much) defines how one understands and “knows” things. This is hardly new – it is simply pointing out the flaw in Cartesian thought- that such propositions outside of worldviews are impossible because all people interpret knowledge through their habitus.

The way Cartesian ideas can still be applied is by dividing up “reasonings” as those that are explicitly expressed by a community – what Peirce calls “B-reasonings” and those views that are unexpressed and simply held by the community without ever having expressed them – what Peirce calls “A-reasonings.” These A-reasonings are what Peter Berger calls the nomos of a society – the norms that a society holds as true and not questionable. They are so far from being questioned that they do not even need to be expressed. Berger explains that this is a necessary feature of human life that people internalize and do not know they produce and reproduce until challenged:
The objective nomos is internalized in the course of socialization. It is thus appropriated by the individual to become his own subjective ordering of experience. It is by virtue of this appropriation that the individual can come to “make sense” of his own biography. The discrepant elements of his past life are ordered in terms of what he “knows objectively” about his own and others’ condition. His ongoing experience is integrated into the same order, though the latter may have to be modified to allow for this integration.[9]
This “nomos” is expressed by Peirce as “A-reasonings” and are the very reason that knowledge must be, and always will be, local. Yakimow summarizes these reasonings well:
To summarize, any given claim that might be encountered is by definition a B-reasoning. B-reasonings arise from an (or set of) A-reasonings and are tokens of that reasoning. A-reasonings, because they are habits, are not amenable to being encompassed or fully comprehended by a propositional definition. If they are, they lose their status as A-reasonings and become B-reasonings. They may, however, be glimpsed in their ‘Fruit” by hypothesizing backwards form any particular B-reasoning to the A-reasoning that gave rise to it.[10]
A-reasonings are therefore habits or actions that a community does and perpetuates without considering it.[11]

B-reasonings, by contrast, are the deliberately stated propositions that Cartesianism depends upon. B-reasonings are the stated expressions that develop from the core A-reasonings. This is what Peter Berger calls “legitimated truths” for a community – “By legitimation is meant socially objectivated “knowledge” that serves to explain and justify the social order. Put differently, legitimations are answers to any question about the “why” of institutional arrangements.”[12] This is a nice way of explaining Peirce’s dynamic of B-reasonings – the propositions that come from the A-reasoning that is operative in action. Yakimow explains this in Peirce’s terms (borrowing from Ochs):
A-reasonings are beliefs that have the character of habits that a community holds as “free from doubt so long as they continue to ground the critic’s capacity to doubt and to propose alternative responses to doubt.’ These are what I have termed the “backbone” of the community’s “common-sense” habits of thought and action. The latter, B-reasonings, are particular articulations of propositions or instances of adopted practices or responses to a dilemma that arise form the exercise of A-reasonings in a given situation.[13]
B-reasonings, then are the propositions that are dependent upon the “local” A-reasonings.

To understand more clearly the value of Peirce’s pragmatic logic, it is important to understand that knowledge is not something that is speculated on, but acted out. A-reasonings are not speculated on – if they were, they would no longer be A-reasonings. Instead, A-reasonings are how a community acts and persists. Yakimow summarizes Och’s view on this topic:
For Ochs, one apprehends the generality of pragmatic claims only indirectly; they cannot be “read off” the surface of any particular claim. This indirect apprehension of generality takes place by examining the various propositions as acted by a community and their particular practices. These are themselves tokens of the habits of thought and action that for the basis or the “backbone” of a community’s discourse.[14]
This then leads to the larger pragmatic point – if all B-reasonings are dependent upon A-reasonings, and all A-reasonings are more action than they are propositions, then it logically follows that all knowledge is based upon praxis – how a community acts is how it knows something. The B-reasonings are simply a secondary means to communicate.

To remind ourselves of the application toward canon formation, this is very helpful. It shows how early Christians focused on scripture for its proper use rather than its propositional analysis. Recall Eusebius’s categorization based upon communities that used the texts rather than any propositional analysis. Further, this also makes logical sense in the way that texts were actually used in communities. Communities used a variety of things in their proper worship praxis that aided them in their relationship with God they already knew (A-reasoning). The documents that continued to aid them started to be used (or even were developed) normatively in that community because they so expressed in a propositional narrative claim (B-reasonings) the habits and actions of the community (A-reasoning). Thereby, texts were developed locally for local knowledge of how to relate with God. This is explained very well with Peirce’s argument for the necessity of local knowledge.

The situation becomes complicated when one attempts to understand how one text – developed in community X – could be understood and accepted by community Y which did not develop the text. This was an issue in early Christianity that is explained very well by Peirce’s pragmatic logic. Peirce points out that while A-reasonings may be the engine that drives all knowledge, for practical purposes they are not very helpful. As soon as a question arises, a B-reasoning is necessary. Yakimow explains this phenomenon:
On the other hand, A-reasonings per se have little immediate relevance to any given situation. They cannot be made fully concrete, and any attempt to do so will result in the production of a B-reasoning. That is, if a particular proposition is clear-and-distinct and practically useful, it is not an A-reasoning. The virtue of A-reasonings, however, is that they are, by definition, free from doubt….They are those implicit rules by which a community is organized and serve to frame the entire world-view of that community.[15]
A-reasonings are very good for the individual in the community – so long as it is never questioned. However, as soon as it is, then a B-reasoning needs to be developed.

The primary way a B-reasoning needs to be developed is if one compares one community with another. In that comparison, the B-reasonings that community X expresses become cognizant to community Y that had never asked those questions. Those questions then seek answers, but because they do not share the same A-reasonings (given that A-reasonings are by definition local), new explanations have to be understood – and what is not transferred are the actual A-reasonings that gave birth to these propositions in the first place. The community X is forced to imagine by working backward community Y’s A-reasonings via their stated B-reasonings. Consider Yakimow’s summary of this problem:
An implication of this interplay between A-reasonings and B-reasonings comes to light when communities with different reasonings are compared. It should be clear that A-reasonings cannot be compared directly between communities the way propositions can be compared. Being communally dependent and resistant to clear-and-distinct formulation, they cannot be precisely displayed. Rather they are displayed indirectly, via the tokens that they produce. These tokens (B-reasonings) come in the form of distinct claims or particular actions. These B-reasonings can then be compared by the community itself to be judged by that community to conform more or less to the set of A-reasonings operative with that community. They can also be compared with other communities to begin to allow a sense within the other community of the A-reasonings that are operative within the first community. The form of this comparative judgment takes is that of recognition, where on recognizes certain claims or actions as conforming to what an exemplar of the community’s values (or A-reasonings) would do or would say given a similar set of circumstances or concerns.[16]
The propositions (B-reasonings) can be compared; however, the habits that formed those propositions nearly cannot – except by analogy.

This explains well the challenge of canon formation in the early church. One community developed a particular text and used it for identity formation in worship. That knowledge fit very well with their A-reasonings. However, when trying to become a religion: “Christianity” – something that is larger than any one congregation – it became important to attempt to regularize the movement. One of the ways of doing so was by attempting to use common scriptures – here considered as B-reasonings. These scriptures, however, were secondary. What were primary were the A-reasonings of the community’s relationship with their God. This could not be understood via texts – as Ochs points out, habit change only can occur with illustration of habit change.[17] Instead, texts were used, possibly misunderstood, and any conversation about their normative content would have been talking past one another. It is for this reason we simply do not see that conversation occurring.

A further value to this theory is through Peirce’s logic of vagueness that allows mutually contradictory propositions to hold – something that the process of canonization depended upon with the eventual result of 27 different books with contradictory information in them. Peirce explains that there is an allowance of contradiction through a concept of vagueness. B-reasonings are developed to be consistent with A-reasonings. B-reasonings will always represent the nomos of a community. However, B-reasonings in so expressing A-reasonings, might well not be consistent with one another. The goal of B-reasonings is to express the unexpressable vertically (from A-reasonings to B-reasonings). They are not expressed in order to be consistent horizontally (B-reasonings with B-reasonings). They frequently will be consistent, but they certainly do not have to be so. This is Peirce’s logic of vagueness that allows for such a situation that would be impossible in a Cartesian framework. This is a very helpful framework for understanding canon formation. Unlike the Latourette’s four qualifying categories for canonization that had as their goal the idea that all books in the canon were of the same quality, Peirce’s framework empowers difference. The books are not of the same quality – that would be frankly impossible, so long as they were actually developed from A-reasonings.

Given this dynamic between A-reasonings and B-reasonings, it then should be logically consistent that Pragmaticism is interested in how knowledge is applied in communities over space in order to test their veracity (to verify them as true knowledge). Given this, thought experiments ought to be created to see how certain propositions can be applied. Yakimow explains this at the very beginning of his dissertation:
While this initial chapter will begin to clarify the relation between philosophy and theological inquiry, a more complete picture will not be possible until after the work of chapter three is complete as the tenets of scriptural pragmatism itself provide warrants for the claim that understanding the practical outworking of any given reasonings is necessary to apprehend that reasoning. This is the case for pragmatists because reasoning and praxis are inextricably interrelated such that one is best able to apprehend a given reasoning by observing its practical ramifications. These practical ramifications, in turn, provide fodder for reflection that might yield hypothetical, yet conceivable, outcomes in new contexts that can be observed to test the validity of a line of reasoning.[18]
Here, the power of Peirce’s pragmatism takes shape. One can still use the Cartesian propositions, but uses them as they apply rather than standing on their own. This is what Peter Ochs calls a “reparative rationality” that uses both objectivist and internalist ideas in contrast with one another to balance their positions in the practical world. Yakimow explains this interest:
In sum, objectivist and internalist tendencies describe discrete claims (B-reasonings) and obscure the habits of thought and action that gave rise to them (A-reasonings); a reparative rationality seeks to not only describe particular but insatiate by way of performance of a particular set of habits (A-reasonings). It is this performance of habits that help to refigure the discrete claims of objectivism and internalism into something that is fruitful and life-giving rather than being merely an explication of purely binary thought.[19]
Here, one can see the power of pragmatism – it uses the propositions, recognizes that behind them are A-reasonings that cannot be seen, and considers many examples to continue to push their application to a logical end that will show the meaning that is possible from a particular proposition, rather than narrowing meaning to a restrictive dictum that confines knowledge rather than enlarging it.

This aspect of Pragmaticism is what is of particular value for understanding the process of canonization. Texts in the early Jesus movement were never understood to be restrictive. They were developed to show communities what kind of possibilities were present in Christianity. There were general avenues of discourse that were restricted as an end.[20] The best example is the regula fidei – rule of faith. In proper devotion, nearly any possibility were open, so long as they ended with a statement of faith that looked much like the Apostles Creed. Further it should be noted that these creeds were developed once again due to practice rather than by proposition. The only way for this to occur was to test the veracity of particular texts through varied use in varied communities – precisely what Pragmaticism seeks to do.

Applying this to the development of canon, it should be noted that the way books were used in antiquity were as B-reasonings that could encourage the community to consider new A-reasonings. They were texts to explore the possibilities of being as members of the Jesus movement. The only way to practically do this, is to apply it to communities and see which function and which do not. The “truth” or “falsehood” of them was therefore by definition local – but that of course does not mean they could not have been universal as well, we just would not know.

Finally, this paper began by discussing the challenges Christians have with the concept that scripture has simply been developed by communities trying and using a variety of texts. This is troubling to some because it appears random and putting too much trust in humans. This paper has tried to show that while it did depend upon humans – the only alternative is to posit that humans are indeed divine. The process while seeming to be random, can actually be understood logically and propositionally as valuable. A long quote by Yakimow presents the challenge of Cartesian binary thinking about truth that can be very practically helpful here:
Rather it elucidates an important aspect of pragmatic claims – that they are, in the first place and primarily, context-specific in that they arise within particular communities of discourse and must be tied to those communities in order to be meaningful. When the issue of particularity is raised, frequently the immediate (and Cartesian) objection is made that this is then to deny the existence of universal claims, as if there are only two choices – particular OR universal – and that the law of the excluded middle applies thereby declaring that either one or the other must be true. Rather than engaging in such a binary, it is enough to point out that just because a claim is formulated regarding a local and particular situation does not mean that it cannot have enhanced generality or even possible universality. There are many possibilities. It is possible that a claim may have considerable generality once its reasoning is grasped in that many people might consider it to be a valid conclusion; even so, no given group may actually adopt it in any regulative sense. Another possibility is that functional generality is achieved where the claim is adopted by another group and when more and more communities find a claim or form of argumentation useful for their own ends. Other possibilities exist. But the point is that the extent of this generality cannot be measured except in the actual event of such adoption itself.[21]
Yakimow argues that, in essence, the early church got it right – Eusebius’s argument that the more functional a text is, in the more cases, the more likely we can move gradually toward feeling confident in its veracity as universally valid. This is particularly valuable for canon, because the texts of the New Testament were not meant to be propositions to be considered logically, they were meant to be included in habit formation and their principles adopted as A-reasonings. Therefore, while we can never know if a text is truly universal or not – this is, after all a matter of faith – the process by which the early church selected the texts of the canon is not a scandal. Rather, the logic of Pragmaticism explains the behavior to be a rational enterprise that could well be one of the better means by which knowledge is obtained.


[1] Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), 1-3.
[2] Scott Yakimow, Proclamatory Pragmatism: An Investigation into the Lutehran Logic of Law and Gospel, PhD Dissertation, University of Virginia 2014,  64, quoting Charles Sanders Peirce, Essential Peirce 2:354. I am indebted to Scott Yakimow for sharing his draft of his dissertation before his defense for use in this paper.
[3] See for example this description in Kenneth Scott Latourette, 133-135 for this view, but note its persistence as it creeps into such far more recent works such as John McManners (ed.) The Oxford Illustrated History of Christianity (Oxford: OUP, 1990), 29.
[4] Eusebius HE 3.25.1-4.
[5] Peter Ochs, “Reparative Reasoning: From Peirce’s Pragmatism to Augustine’s Scriptural Semiotic” Modern Theology 25 (2), April 2009, 189.
[6] Yakimow, 21.
[7] Yakimow, 15.
[8] Yakimow, 21.
[9] Peter Berger, The Sacred Canopy: Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion (New York: Anchor, 1967) 21.
[10] Yakmow, 31.
[11] For a helpful discussion of how a community can produce tenets without deliberately considering them, see Berger’s cycle of “World-Creation” and “World-Maintenance” through the process of externalization, objectivation, and internalization. See Berger, Sacred Canopy, 3-51.
[12] Berger, Sacred Canopy, 29.
[13] Yakimow, 30.
[14] Yakimow, 29. 
[15] Yakimow, 31.
[16] Yakimow, 32.
[17] Ochs 191-196.
[18] Yakimow 12-13.
[19] Yakimow, 44.
[20] For the concept of Pragmaticism as opening primarily a mode of discourse, see Yakimow chapter 3, pp. 129-209.
[21] Yakimow 28-29.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Review of Dale Allison Jr. "A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on James"


Dale C. Allison Jr. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle of James, International Critical Commentary Series, New York, London, New Delhi, Sydney: Bloomsbury, 2013, xlix + 790 pages.

Dale Allison’s commentary on the book of James is of the quality rarely seen among modern scholars. Allison’s arguments are clear, his approach is forthright, his research is impeccable, and he avoids using straw men to bolster his own position. His commentary on James – in all over 800 pages in length – is one of the best researched commentaries produced in recent times. This is very much in fitting with the standards of the International Critical Commentary series that – on the whole – consistently provides thorough commentaries that drive readers into the text. Allison’s greatest strength in this commentary is his vast research that combines historical critical understanding with a reception history mindset. Therefore, he is as comfortable using Ambrose and Luther on James as he is Kloppenborg and Dibelius. His commentary is governed by a social circumstance of arguing for irenic relations between Christians and Jews in the second century. This context is what provides the greatest asset to the commentary and its largest challenge.

First, Allison should be commended for what he sees the purpose of a commentary to be. He recognizes that the genre of “commentary” is a difficult one and that there are any number of varieties of reasons for writing them. This commentary is not so narrow as to be only an aid for those studying Greek nor so wide as to consider itself the most important reference work on all things James. Instead, Allison carves out his own place in the genre:
Recent debates have seen much discussion of what a commentary should be, and many have expressed discontent with traditional historical-critical approaches to texts. In this writer’s judgment, there is no moral imperative here, no right or wrong. There remains rather room for manifold approaches. Commentators probably do best to write about what interests them, and as long as there are readers with similar interests – in the case of this commentary, readers who care about historical-critical questions and reception history – their books will continue to see the light of day.[1]
Allison points out that commentaries are not all the same and are not the be all end all of study. This is commendable. Too often commentaries are written without clear reason – they are simply scheduled because it is easier to write a commentary than a monograph about a new aspect of a book – indeed, very often commentaries can slip into saying very little original and instead becoming an encyclopedia of previous work. This can have some value, but Allison hopes for more than that in his volume.

Allison, then, chooses to use his commentary as a place to show how “reception history” and “historical-critical” studies can, and ought to be, merged. He argues that considering these two things in tandem can provide new value to a commentary. He explains this in depth with 5 points that he expresses are boons to the study of the New Testament:
At the same time [as the historical critical analysis], the present volume is much concerned with the history of interpretation and reception. Most critical commentaries tend instead to privilege recent work, their footnotes typically citing ancient sources and modern critics, with little in between. The habit is unfortunate. The history of interpretation and application of biblical texts invites our serious attention for multiple reasons. (i) Such history is intrinsically interesting in and of itself, as I hope readers of these pages concur. (ii) It instills humility by reminding exegetes of how much they owe to those who came before, and of the degree to which they are bearers of traditions. The line between present work and past work is much less distinct than many imagine…(iii) Careful attention to older commentators sometimes allows one to recover exegetical suggestions and profitable lines of inquiry that, from a historical-critical point of view, should never have dropped out of the commentary tradition. (iv) The history of the interpretation of James reveals the plasticity of texts, and how easily and thoroughly they succumb to interpretive agendas…(v) Finally, reception history that looks beyond theologians and commentaries – as this volume sometimes does – reminds one that biblical texts are not the exclusive property of clerics and exegetes.[2]
Here, Allison’s points are valid and helpful. His melding of the two throughout the text reveals this well. It shows how – particularly in New Testament studies – those things that are “new” are rarely new at all. The worst kind of scholarship is “magic bullet” scholarship – the idea that there is one hitherto unknown detail about a particular text that reinterprets everything else in the text that had been read for millennia. Allison’s commentary necessarily avoids that problem and even shows how foolish such an approach is. It shows how thoroughly these texts have been read and how “modern” questions are far less “modern” that we think. For example, it is a common trope that ideas of pseudepigraphy in James (the idea that it was not Jesus’ brother who wrote the book) are an enlightenment question and that there were no people before this time who challenged the authorship of the piece. However, Allison shows clearly that both Jerome and Origen were familiar with people who did challenge authorship in the third and fourth centuries.[3]

What is even more helpful of combining reception history with a historical critical commentary, is that Allison has shown how reception history can actually be foundationally helpful for the study of the New Testament. In recent years, there has been an absolute explosion in the “history of exegesis.” This has culminated in several commentary series whose whole role is simply to illustrate “what the Father said about the text” such as the Ancient Christian Commentary Series, the Church’s Bible series, and the Blackwell Bible Commentary Series. The use of them, though has been difficult. Most of the time, they are viewed as helpful for understanding the author ‘s expressed, but not the text. For example, what Augustine says about Genesis often tells us very little about Genesis – with his use of allegories and Platonic cosmology, but it is not clear how helpful these reception histories are for actually understanding Genesis itself. Allison has done a great job illustrating how the reception of a text can aid in understanding a text historically. He has shown that even if the history of interpretation was incorrect, that history has framed the questions that are still asked to the text. Further, very frequently many of the questions that were once asked and have subsequently ceased to be asked ought to be reconsidered. In this, combining the two things was an absolute triumph and alone makes the book worthy of consideration – even for those who are not terribly interested in the book of James.

The second thing that Allison’s approach does, which is relatively rare among modern commentaries, is finds a way to address a very wide range of scholarship without making it his sole purpose to use a single one of them as a type of straw man that he then uses as a counterpoint he will prove wrong. For the book of James, Martin Dibelius’s commentary is used in this manner. The 1920’s ideas in the book are outdated and most modern commentators for some reason feel the need to destroy his ideas – look here for my blog post about this practice and how it annoys me: How the ghost of Martin Dibelius Haunts the Study of James: The proclivity of scholarship to maintain an unfair caricature. Because of Allison’s combination of reception history with historical critical analysis, what has come before is honored rather than challenged. This is rare in modern scholarship and the hermeneutic of respect which Allison promotes cannot be lauded enough in the modern world of scholarship where a hermeneutic of iconoclasm very frequently is encouraged.

In his actual argument, Allison argues for a general social perspective for the book of James. He does not argue for a central thesis beyond its intended societal effect. He argues that the book of James was written for both Christian Jews and non-Christian Jews (not for gentiles). He argues that the goal of the book were to revolve around a variety of topics that would promote irenic behavior between the two:
Our letter is not a systematic or comprehensive statement of its author’s personal theology or religious convictions. The content is rather dictated and circumscribed by the particular goals its author had in mind; and as this commentary discerns an attempt to promote irenic relations between Christian Jews and non-Christian Jews, the dearth of unambiguously Christian beliefs is readily explained. So too the traditional character of most of the letter: it is full of conventional material because James wanted his group to be perceived as conventional. That is, he wanted Christian Jews to be perceived as Jews. So the letter is in large measure a statement of beliefs shared by Jews and Christians.[4]
This interest then requires that the text not have as central a thesis as might be expected. Instead, he argues that the interest was to promote a conventional Judaism for a few different points that might be at issue between Jewish and Jewish-Christian groups.

This perspective then defines the author and audience as Jewish Christians with little to no place for Gentile Christianity:
This commentary, going beyond McNeile, suggests that James represents Christian Jews who did not define themselves over against Judaism. That is, our book emerged from a Christ-oriented Judaism, from a group that still attended synagogue and wished to maintain irenic relations with those who did not share their belief that Jesus was the Messiah.[5]
Here is Allison’s governing hypothesis for his interpretation – that this was written to Jews in order to promote commonality between the two via an argument for relatively conventional behavior on the part of the Jewish-Christians.

While there certainly is some challenge to the idea that James is not written to Gentiles, there are certainly many commentators of James who would agree with Allison on this point. Where Allison’s argument is less strong is the idea that James presents anything that could present “conventional Judaism.” The book of James could be argued to be dominated by Stoic theology rather than “standard Judaism” as read by some scholars – most notably Matt A. Jackson-McCabe.[6] McCabe points out that it was certainly possible for Jews to read their ideas in a stoic lens – as can be found in figures such as Philo, it is a very difficult position to take to argue that this was in any way normative Judaism at any point in Jewish history. This would have been rather exceptional Judaism to say the least.

Where this theory is troubling is how this is expressed in the commentary itself. The moments where stoic theology loom large, such as the “law of freedom,” “dipsychos (double minded),” “internal epithumia (desire),” and “logos,” are not expressed clearly in Allison’s commentary. He mentions the Stoic principles behind them, but then does not do anything with that insight. It is quite possible that there are two reasons. The first is that Allison is well aware that such a view is hardly normative Judaism. The second, though, is less obvious – his interest in melding reception history and critical exegesis would have made these moments difficult. Very few people before the 19th century would have mentioned Stoic theology as such in any commentary on James. Therefore, all of it is in the “modern” period and therefore would not be bolstered by his melded approach. However, this is only true on the surface level. In the Patristic period, many readers of James read these terms fully in a Stoic context. However, they did not call it deliberately “Stoic” because for them, this was their own philosophy. They held “logos” in a very similar manner as Stoic theology, but never knew that. Very few actually studied Epictetus or Chrysippus. However, they did study Augustine and followed his example. Therefore, it seems that Allison’s melded approach here fell victim to focusing on what was stated more outright than what was behind many of these texts.

Finally, Allison’s argument about authorship – while being quite standard – here illustrates the difficulty modern scholars have with authorship. Allison argues that this is a pseudepigraphon. He does not feel that the brother of Jesus wrote this work. He has a thorough argument for this position that is as well presented as any that I have ever seen.[7] The problem is why he considers it a pseudepigraphon in the first place. After all, the text never says that it is Jesus’ brother – only that is someone named Iakobos (Eng. “James”) who is a member of the Jesus movement. Here, Allison falls into a relatively standard argument suggesting that the silence of definition of this particular James is deafening and that the silence should indicate it is Jesus’ brother:
Two views dominate today: either James the brother of Jesus stands behind our text, or it is a pseudepigraphon written in his name. Both views rightly assume that a lesser name requires qualification whereas a greater name does not. The Jesus of Col 4.11 is “Jesus Justus.” An early Christian could never have simply called such a one “Jesus”: That name, if unqualified, would have signified Jesus of Nazareth. And so likewise, most suppose, is it with the simple Iakobos of Jas 1:1: the only James who could be introduced without further biographical specification, and who speaks with the authority that this writer does, must be the most famous James, which means the brother of Jesus.[8]
Here, Allison presents a relatively standard argument. One could see a similar argument in Ehrman’s recent Forgery and Counterforgery.[9] This argument though, is always very weak. First, it is an argument from silence. That alone makes this less strong than they wish it were. Second, in this case, the name “James” was frequently used in Early Christian literature for different figures. The best example I have is James the son of Zebedee is hardly ever described with any kind of qualifying title. Instead, it is simply “Peter, James, and John” who ascend the mountain. If every time a Christian read “James,” they automatically thought of James the Just, why did the gospels not need to include the kind of qualifying remark that Allison (and others) propose they did? The argument seems to fall apart. What is worse is that this is the beginning of his introduction with this argument. This is the first thing that a reader will see and there are serious questions as to the helpfulness of this conversation. Very little of it aids the meaning of the actual text as I expressed in a previous blog post: Authorship as Remoteness.

Finally, on a convenience’s note, the citations in this book were weighty – there were more than a thousand footnotes that cited a tremendous number of texts. This encyclopedic outlook was the strength of the book. However, the bibliography did not include all of the books cited. While I understand this for the purposes of brevity, for a book that is over 800 pages, it is very annoying to have to root through the book to try and find the first time a work was footnoted to find the entire reference (particularly if one is on page 750 and the first time it was references was on page 125). This is not a major issue, but it is annoying as a reader.

In all, this book is a triumph. It deserves to be read for both its content on James and its format of melding the genres of reception history with historical critical studies in an accessible way.




[1] Allison, 3.
[2] Allison, 2-3.
[3] Allison, 18-19.
[4] Allison, 88.
[5] Allison, 43.
[6] Matt A. Jackson-McCabe Logos and Law in the Letter of James: The Law of Nature, the Law of Moses, and the Law of Freedom (Leiden: Brill, 2001).
[7] Allison, 3-32.
[8] Alllison, 4-5.
[9] Bart Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics (Oxford: OUP, 2013).

Monday, November 17, 2014

Chapter Thirteen – The Return of the King, Chapter Fourteen - Results


 [This is an ongoing project that is analyzing N.T. Wright’s 5 volume series, Christian Origins and the Question of God. This series is widely read and bridges the gap between the academic and devotional world. It is therefore worthy to be carefully analyzed so that all readers can understand his key points while at the same time gaining a critical eye to some of his rather bold claims. This series of posts are concerning volume 2 – Jesus and the Victory of God.]

The final chapter of Wright’s analysis presents his most innovative, and hence, most questionable assertion. Here, he allows the consequence of his idea of Jesus being the return of Israel from exile and God becoming king to its logical conclusion – God apocalyptically inhabiting Zion. Here, he argues that this was done through Jesus’ action in Jerusalem – namely his being crucified. Here, Wright creates a very Lukan portrait of Jesus and so long as he keeps this priority, then his view functions. However, if that priority is challenged in any way, then there are difficulties.

Wright closes his book with what he sees as the final question of Jesus’ ministry – his clear vocation. He argues that Jesus’ vocation would not be complete if it did not include God returning from Zion. He summarizes the scheme he has argued earlier:
We have seen Jesus’ Temple-action as symbolic enacting of YHWH’s judgment on the Temple, and as a symbolic claim to Messiahship. We have seen his Last Supper as a symbolic enacting of the great exodus, the return from exile which he intended to accomplish in his own death. So, I suggest, we should see his final journey to Jerusalem, climaxing in those two events and in that which followed from them, as the symbolic enacting of the great central kingdom-promise, that YHWH would at last return to Zion, to judge and to save.[1]
This would, in some sense, designate Jesus as divine (for God to be returning to Zion is to see Jesus as returning to Zion). However, Wright does a good job showing that he cannot historically argue whether Jesus was divine or not. However, he can argue that Jesus saw himself as such:
Let me stress that I am not asking, in this chapter, whether Jesus actually was or is ‘divine’, whatever we might mean by that. I am asking about Jesus’ own aims and beliefs: the sense of vocation that led him, as a first-century Jew, to do and say what he did and said, and the belief system within which those actions and words made sense.[2]
Wright is attempting to ask whether Jesus saw himself as a divine figure that saw himself as worthy of worship.[3]

The challenge of Jesus seeing himself as enacting the coming kingdom then asks how he is still functioning in an apocalyptic sense as the son of man. Wright argues that his action fits within a Danielic sphere of apocalyptic expectation wherein the actor would come from earth and then move to heaven:
Jesus did speak of the ‘coming of the son of man,’ but that this whole phrase has to be taken quite strictly in its Danielic sense, in which ‘coming’ refers to the son of man ‘coming’ to the Ancient of Days. He is not ‘coming’ to earth from heaven, but the other way around. Second, I propose that Jesus did speak of a ‘coming’ figure in the more usual sense of ‘one who comes to Israel’. This coming figure was YHWH himself, as promised in the texts we have set out above. Jesus, I suggest, thought of the coming of YHWH as an event which was bound up with his own career and its forthcoming climax.[4]
In this scheme, then, it is possible for Jesus to be both the son of man and not lead a violent revolution. However, serious question has to be asked of Wright whether this is the best understanding of Jesus’ message.

Wright’s argument makes good sense if, and only if, we see Jesus’ view being accurately portrayed by the Gospel of Luke. Luke argues that at the coming of Christ, all people are in some sense already within the kingdom of god. Jesus’ actions have ushered in the kingdom in the present. If this is the premise, then Wright exposition makes perfect sense. Consider his following analysis:
YHWH is visiting his people, and they do not realize it; they are therefore in imminent danger of judgment, which will take the form of military conquest and devastation. This is not a denial of the imminence of the kingdom. It is a warning about what that immanent kingdom will entail. The parable functions, like so many, as a devastating redefinition of the kingdom of god. Yes the kingdom does mean the return of YHWH to Zion. Yes, this kingdom is even now about to appear. But no, this will not be a cause of celebration for nationalist Israel.[5]
Jesus’ judgment upon the people is in the present rather than the eschatological future.

For this to be the case, Jesus needs to be divine. For Jesus to usher in God’s enthronement of Zion – as strange a manner as he did so – he must be divine so that this can be enacted. He argues that this is explained in the wisdom theology presented in the Gospels and that this wisdom theology goes back to Jesus himself:
By themselves [Jesus as divine wisdom], I do not think these sayings would be strong enough to bear the weight that is sometimes placed on them. They cannot sustain a complete explanation of Jesus’ self-understanding. But they are entirely at home within the wider context of Jesus’ symbolic journey to Jerusalem, and his varied explanations of that all-important action. Indeed, it is not easy to suppose them coming into existence except in some such context. Once again, we have no reason outside the synoptic tradition itself to suppose that anyone after Jesus’ day made such sayings and symbols central to their understanding of who Jesus was and the role he was playing. It looks as though we are in touch with his own aims and beliefs, his own sense of vocation.[6]
The only problem with Wright’s analysis is his assertion that the wisdom sayings would not have been created by the early church. Seeing Jesus as divine was very much an essential element of Christology that was popular in the centuries following Jesus’ death, so there is little reason why we would not expect them to perpetuate such an idea. However, eventually, I think Wright is correct – that Jesus did see himself as the embodiment of divine wisdom.

Where Wright’s analysis could use supplement is in his discussion of whether Jesus has already been enthroned in Zion in the Lukan style that he suggests, or if that action is to be ushered in at the parousia – an idea that would be supported more carefully by Matthew, Mark, and Paul. The “return” to Zion is not so much controversial for its function – most all people argue that Jesus saw himself as calling for and embodying that role. The question is simply if it already happened. Many would argue it has not. That when Jesus returns in the future, is when he plans on embodying this role.

Wright’s analysis, then leads logically to the problem he proposes in his conclusion to the book – that what Jesus seemed to call for did not happen. He sets up the problem thus:
Make Jesus a teacher, and you can translate that teaching into other modes. Make him a one-dimensional revolutionary (social political, military even), and you have a model to imitate. But see him as an eschatological prophet announcing, and claiming to embody, the kingdom of the one true God, and you have a story of a man gambling and apparently losing.[7]
Here, Wright argues that there was a crisis in that Jesus saw himself having already filled the messianic role and not seeming to have accomplished it.

Wright has to explain this problem with a single point – that he would have lost if he was not resurrected. He argues that the value in Jesus’ action is dependent upon a belief in the resurrection:
Why then did people go on talking about Jesus of Nazareth, except as a remarkable but tragic memory? The obvious answer is the one given by all early Christians actually known to us (as opposed to those invented by modern mythographers): Jesus was raised from the dead.[8]
Here, at some level, Wright is, of course, correct. If the early Christians did not believe Jesus rose from the dead, then they would not very well be able to uphold much of a belief in him. The problem, is what he thinks this proves. This does explain why people found him valid, but it doesn’t prove that Jesus has already accomplished the apocalyptic goals. If one held that Jesus would fill this role in the future, it also would be necessary that he rose from the dead (a dead person cannot very well return).

Wright is aware of this problem, so he has reoriented the question to discuss how this enthronement will be implemented throughout the world. The apocalyptic end has been accomplished, but the effects of it have not yet been realized:
But if he was an eschatological prophet/Messiah, announcing the kingdom and dying in order to bring it about, the resurrection would declare that he had in principle succeeded in his task, and that his earlier redefinitions of the coming kingdom had pointed to a further task awaiting his followers, that of implementing what he had achieved. Jesus, after all, as a good first-century Jews, believed that Israel functioned to the rest of the world as the hinge to the door; what he had done for Israel, he had done in principle for the whole world. It makes sense, within his aims as we have studied them to suppose that he envisaged his followers becoming in their turn Isaianic heralds, lights to the world.[9]
Here, aside from the side note that Wright makes of opening salvation to the gentiles – which should be a serious topic of discussion rather than a mere side note – Jesus has already accomplished everything messianically, he has just not enacted that role to its fullest. This idea is fully Lukan – the idea that Jesus already established the kingdom and is merely waiting for the final stage to destroy evil – so that history can be fulfilled and all those who need to be saved will be saved.

The view, then, is not outlandish, but it is very much dependent upon one gospel. A real question should be considered as to whether that is the best approach or not. Throughout this book, Wright has consistently and competently presented a Lukan Jesus. While that is certainly something that is very possible, it is also something that needs to be proved. Why has Mark – usually presented as far earlier than Luke – not gotten the same amount of space and attention? This, I suspect will be a theme that needs to be further explored in his upcoming volume The Resurrection of the Son of God.


[1] JVG, 631.
[2] JVG, 613.
[3] JVG, 612.
[4] JVG, 632.
[5] JVG, 636.
[6] JVG, 647.
[7] JVG, 657.
[8] JVG, 658-659.
[9] JVG, 660.