David Kohl, Lutherans on the Yangtze: A Centenary Account of the Missouri Synod in China Volume 1: 1912-1952, Portland : One Spirit Press, 2013, ISBN 9781893075429.

Update: The review of the second volume of this book can be found at http://bennickodemus.blogspot.com/2014/10/david-kohl-with-consultation-with-hank.html
It is recommended one read this post first before one reads the review of the second volume as I have elaborated on many of the same themes.


[Proviso – I write this review with little knowledge of the history of missions in the LCMS, the History of China, and certainly not the history of the LCMS missionaries in China. I am a historian of the ancient world and I will, therefore, provide absolutely no critique of the content of the material for its accuracy. I, rather, will provide this merely insofar as it is a history of a religious movement. I will consider how it presents its case as a history and what elements are laudable and what lead the reader to ask further questions. I leave it to those more knowledgeable than me in these areas to verify/challenge the content presented in this book]

David Kohl’s Lutherans on the Yangtze is a valuable, timely, and important book for the modern history of global missions. As a history it does a very good job presenting the events of the LCMS missionary movement in China and showing how those events were predicated upon by external circumstances (most notably China’s tenuous political history and the developing relationship between the missionaries in China with the governing bodies of the LCMS in St. Louis). Further, Kohl’s book does more than merely narrate events, but the author has clearly taken pains by use of a variety of visual depictions (photographs, illustrations, and maps) to create a visual as well as written history of the period. The book admits not to attempt to judge the history of the church, only to report. This is the books greatest strength and simultaneously its greatest limitation.

Kohl writes this book in a timely manner for two primary reasons. The first is that this book is written after one hundred years of the mission in China (with its beginnings being, give or take – depending upon what one counts as a beginning) in 1912. This then provides a rich history of continuity and change that can display how a missionary movement adapts to radically different circumstances. The second reason this book is timely is quoted in the first printed line of the book – a preface by Mel Kieschnick, “Lutherans on the Yangtze needs to be written now because the number of those who are still alive to tell and weave the details is shrinking.”[1] This harsh reality is something that has encouraged a variety of different missionary movements to write their history before it is lost from memory.[2] The information preserved here would have been much harder to obtain at much later of a date and as such it is a valuable resource. The history of modern world missions is of vital importance to the understanding of the development of religious movements, cultural interaction over time and tradition, and an important element in modern globalization. As such, this book is apropos in both scholarly and devotional circles.

Kohl, like any good historian, shows his principles from which he will present his monograph. He presents the heuristic plan of non-judgment in presentation of the history of the missionary movement:

My goal is to present balanced information on internal issues, set into the context of local and world history and cultural trends. I hope to act as a reporter, no judge. I’ve found myself more interested in origins than developments – how programs and projects began. Perspective and hindsight are usually 20-20. I’m not about discrediting anyone or judging philosophies, programs or institutions. My goal is to record objectively how well-intentioned (but sometimes ill-founded or inexperienced) individuals and institutions sought to carry out their understanding of God’s will. Directors, commissions, boards, auxiliary organizations, and lay people all played their roles.[3]

Kohl displays his primary interests – in reporting on the events of the mission without judgment so that the book would be of interest to the widest possible readership. He presents a hermeneutic of respect and holds true to that hermeneutic throughout his text.

The values of the text are many. First, Kohl shows advanced research from the founding of the society to its major shift in 1949 at the close of the book (setting up therefore, the second volume). His bibliography is lengthy and he clearly has referenced a variety of primary texts in order to inform this history. The result then is less of a story of the memory of a handful of those still alive, but rather a far more complete history considering all of the information available.

The second value is that Kohl does a good job not only narrating the events, but historiographically explaining the circumstances that led to the events. For instance, rather than simply beginning the text with the founding of the mission by Edward Arndt, it begins with the circumstances that caused Arndt to create the mission. It does a good job showing why Arndt personally was inspired (some of which was the great missionary opportunity to a country where 99 percent of the people had never heard the gospel message – according to a report he read) and part due to his dissatisfaction with his current teaching post at Concordia St. Paul involving a personal conflict with a student and the handling of that conflict by CSP.[4] Further, it discusses the reasons why the LCMS[5] did not originally fund Arndt’s mission proposal and how Arndt raised public awareness and created a society larger than the Missouri Synod that actually funded his mission to China.[6] Kohl does a good job of causally explaining the circumstances that led to this conclusion rather than simply providing the data, making this a true work of history rather than simply a timeline.

To provide causal links once the mission was begun in China, it is important for the reader to understand the tumultuous political climate in China during the time period the book covers. Kohl does a good job presenting enough of the political history for readers to understand the new crisis facing the mission, but not so much that the book becomes a history of China that presents so much information that the very small Lutheran mission is lost in the macro-scale discussions of political turmoil of the largest country on earth.[7]

The book shows how the mission adapted to political and cultural change over time. However, Kohl shows a type of continuity within that cultural change by presenting the entire narrative as the narrative of a family.[8] This analogy is rather helpful as it shows how the long duree of Edward Arndt (until his death in 1929) set the precedent for the type of work done and through some of his literal family (as many of his children continued the work) as well as his legacy, there was essential continuity in the midst of necessitating change. The text does a good job showing the interconnections between the various missionaries and the way in which the values and principles were simultaneously adaptable as well as inalienable principles that could never be changed.[9]

What sets Kohl’s book off from many histories of different religious movements is the number of photographs which he presents in the text. Kohl has dedicated nearly every other page to photographs of relevant figures, cultural artifacts, and geographical locations. Usually histories of time periods have a few short sections of photos, but this book exceeds them all in the sheer number of visible displays. This allows the reader not only to read and consider the development of the figures and places in the book, but it also allows them to see it. This makes it a robust text that has feeling.

Finally, the book does a good job of using its hermeneutic of respect. It would have been very easy to paint the Board of Foreign Missions or the Synod in St. Louis as distant figures who caused more problems than they solved (particularly in a few cases); however, Kohl does a good job remaining balanced and simply explaining what happened, why it happened and moving one without judgment.

The challenges to the book are precisely found in its values – its nonjudgmental attitude using the hermeneutic of respect did not allow for as much of a hermeneutic of suspicion to accompany it.[10] At many points, one wonders what the conflicting viewpoints of the history might have been that could have led to a more robust explanation of what occurred. Kohl attempts to present “both sides” of the story, but in so doing, he does not make that critical judgment that a historically robust work is bold to do.

The second major challenge is the relative paucity of dialogue with primary sources in the text. It is obvious that the book is well researched and built upon the primary sources, but in the actual narrative presented, the quoting of them is infrequent. The text is lauded for creating such complete pictures of the missionaries (particularly Edward Arndt), but it loses something when we cannot hear from Arndt himself. For example, Kohl describes Arndt’s letters and newsletter which he used to promote his mission to China,[11] further, there is even a photograph of one of the issues;[12] however, there is no quotation of the newsletter itself to let the reader see the type of argument Arndt made to the larger audience.

The reasons for Kohl’s reticence to quote are probably twofold and more than likely forgivable – the first is brevity. There was an obvious interest in keeping this volume brief as Kohl points out that each chapter deserves its own book[13] and recognizes that the book could have easily been twice as long. The second reason is that this book is not written as a scholarly exhaustive account.[14] This indicates that the book was not primarily interested in citing sources in text throughout the history (primarily – it is done on some occasions) and as such, direct quotations would also be of secondary interest.

The more significant challenge lies in the book’s interest in the events of what happened through cause and effect, but sometimes it lacked the discussion of how things occurred on the ground. This is precisely the goal Kohl presents as depicting “how programs and projects began.” However, the reader has very serious questions about what was exactly happening in many places. For instance, the development of the mission field and how it finally came about, where the developments was located (down to the very buildings), the development of those particular buildings to other ones in the decades that followed, the local culture and associations, and even the cuisine are carefully depicted. However, the central gospel message that was presented is not particularly developed (except when it came into conflict such as the model of Baptism[15]). For instance, how key were Lutheran doctrines in the process? Was Law and Gospel primarily preached? Were sacraments presented in the same way in China as in America? How much was this message dependent upon accepting Western values and how much was refigured for the local culture?[16] This key point was missing and considering the adaptation/continuity presented throughout the book, it might have been interesting to see if this was primarily changed – were there key differences in the emphasis of the Christian gospel at different times that happens so often in Christian churches?[17] I should point out that when this was in crisis – most notably with the controversy concerning the name of God in China – that Kohl does a fantastic job explaining this.[18] It is only the “day to day” theological message that is not discussed as deeply.

The final challenge to Kohl would have been helpful but perhaps not possible – statistical growth patterns of involvement in the church. It would have been helpful to get a sense for how large the congregations were over time, how many congregations there were, and their sociological elements. It is quite possible that there are simply not records for this type of analysis, but it is certainly something that would be helpful and perhaps with the second volume coming where data might be more available, this kind of analysis could be valued.

The final critique is not to Kohl but to the forward written by Rev. Paul Kreyling. Kohl’s text does a wonderful job explaining the history of the mission in China without diminutizing it for his readers nor presenting it as a narrative apologetic to recruit missionaries. Unfortunately the same cannot be said of Kreyling’s forward.  

It presents an appeal that those who are “able” will go to a mission:

Missionaries, single, or married, have gone because they have received that precious gift of God we call faith, and the Christ-like love which is engendered in them by that faith. Actually, all of us who have received that gift of faith have also received that command of Jesus to “Go!” Not necessarily go overseas, or even to remote parts of our own country. It is obvious that not all of us are able to heed that call by journeying and living abroad.[19]

This is troubling on a few levels. First, it is probably true that some are not able to handle overseas mission; however, the way that Kreyling has described it, it sets the call of the missionary over and above all other calls. The only good reason, seemingly, for someone not to travel and become a missionary is that they “are not able to heed that call.” This implies that everyone has that same call. Consequently, it is therefore only those who have the call and do not answer it who are “allowed” not to travel overseas. This is troubling Lutheran theology – which should hold that there is no value judgment of holiness upon calls from God in the priesthood of believers (and certainly no idea that all are called to specifically do mission work overseas). While this was probably a well meaning passage trying to honor those who have worked overseas, it does not set the fair tone of the book. This discussion would be appropriate for a book that is trying to encourage readers to consider overseas mission work. However, Kohl’s book is not about that – it is a history of a mission that has an appeal to a wide variety of readers without value judgment. The concern is that such a forward could “turn off” the reader who is interested in the text for a variety of reasons that might not have to do with consideration of entering foreign missions oneself.

In all, this book is very much worth the read. It presents an account of the missionary endeavors into China by the LCMS. It is work that has not been done before and Kohl’s historical narrative paired with his abundant photographic and documentary supplements create an engaging book that ought to be read as a good history of a hitherto untold story of the Lutheran

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[1] Mel Kieschnick, “Preface” in Lutherans on the Yangtze, (Portland: One Spirit Press, 2013), vi.

[2] See for instance, John Eggert’s S.T.M. Thesis, Fifty Years of Theological Education in the Gutnius Lutheran Church of Papua New Guinea 1948-1998 (Concordia Seminary St. Louis, 2003).

[3] Kohl, Lutherans on the Yangtze, xvii.

[4] Ibid., 3-7.

[5] I will use that term even though at the time the name of the synod was the Evangelical Lutheran Synod of Missouri, Ohio, and other States.

[6] Ibid., 9-11.

[7] See particularly Ibid., 13-27, 91-101, 133-143.

[8] Ibid., xvi.

[9] To borrow a concept most compellingly displayed by Clifford Geertz, Islam Observed: Religious Developments in Morocco and Indonesia (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1968), 1-4.

[10] For the dynamics of this balance, see Hugh Urban, The Church of Scientology: A History of a New Religion (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011).  

[11] Kohl, Lutherans on the Yangtze, 11.

[12] Ibid., 4.

[13] Ibid., xvii.

[14] Ibid., 185.

[15] Ibid., 31-33.

[16] The reader is left to assume that at least some implantation of LCMS customs were adopted as a key development was the translation of German hymns into Chinese – however, there is no real reason to think that indicated that all of life was to change to a Western one – it probably did not.

[17] See for a very different situation, James K. Wellman Jr. From the Gold Coast Church to the Ghetto: Christ and Culture in Mainline Protestantism (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999) for how a church in Chicago changed its primary emphasis in the gospel over a time period approximating the same for the mission in China.

[18] Kohl, Lutherans on the Yangtze, 85-103.

[19] Paul Kreyling “Forward” Lutherans on the Yangtze, xii, emphasis mine.

The Signs of Jesus: Wedding at Cana as Case Study

[As a proviso, this paper was written as a homily given to the Concordia University community at their daily chapel. As such, it is not as academic as much of my work usually is and cannot stand up to a barrage of academic scrutiny. I have limited the citing of sources to the bare minimum and have not contributed anything especially "new" about the text. However, I do think that the general argument is sound and I present it as it might be of interest to a larger audience.]

The infamous “wedding at Cana” pericope has the danger of being so familiar that readers do not pause to see the confusions in the text. Here, this essay will present some of the odd components of the text and then discuss the key to understanding the theological significance of the pericope by discussing the concept of signs.

First, the text as it stands is unusual, not only in the Gospel of John, but in any gospel. What is striking is first how Jesus performs the miracle. Miracles are often categorized as such because they are very public acts. This miracle, the reader will note, is something that Jesus does with seemingly relatively few people recognizing. The chief steward is confused and all he can do is marvel at the situation. We are told that the servants knew what had happened, but there is no seeming transference of that knowledge. The disciples, at the end, are told that on account of this, they believe, so we assume that they must have knowledge of what happened. However, this is formally different than the miracles Jesus did in that it is not a public event.

Another oddity is how Jesus performed the miracle. Here, Jesus is asked to perform a miracle (even though he seemingly had never done one before), refuses to do it,[1] then does it in a very inconspicuous way. All Jesus does is tell the servants to fill water jugs and then bring them to the chief steward. Usually (but not always) when Jesus does miracles it is accompanied by a gesture or saying. Here there is nothing except for a few seemingly mundane directions.

The largest oddity is how brief this narrative is. There are several characters introduced who then have nothing else to do with the story. For instance, it begins with Jesus’ mother who asks Jesus what to do and then gives a direction to the servants and then disappears. Then the servants are discussed, they do what Jesus commands and the water has turned to wine. They have a brief aside mentioning that they know what happened, but then the author moves away from it and we don’t know where that is going. The chief steward is mentioned and is perplexed, completely misunderstands the situation and never receives resolution. The disciples are mentioned at the end of the pericope with no seeming part in anything that preceded it – readers are left to assume the disciples knew what occurred, but there is really nothing that says that. What is most striking is Jesus’ role in the text. He has a terse conversation with his mother and two directives to the servants and he is not mentioned again. The entire text is clipped.

The reason this text is so clipped is that it is present less to tell the precise story of what happened at the particular wedding as much as it is completing the call of the disciples and giving the reader a clue as who Jesus is and how he will operate throughout the gospel. First, it should be noted that this is called “The first of his signs in Cana of Galilee.” The word “first” here can mean chronologically first, but it can also have the sense of first in value. The word arche has the meaning of something far closer to “type” or “pattern” and rather than this merely being a comment about this text being the chronologically first sign that Jesus did (which it probably is), it is telling the reader to watch for this pattern and style of behavior.[2] Jesus will work in signs (and indeed will perform 6 more) with this same effect.

The effect of the sign is “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” From his action, the disciples believe in him. The signs, in the Gospel of John, eventuate belief. What is particularly interesting is how they do that. To understand that, it is necessary to discuss what a “sign” is and why that term is particularly used in this text.

To understand the use of the term “sign,” it is necessary to look to its parallel in the Old Testament. The term itself could be used in a variety of ways, but when paired with mighty works of power, it leads immediately to think of the “signs” Moses performed among the Egyptians. These signs of course, are the ten plagues that God, through Moses and Aaron, inflicts upon the Egyptians. The text shows the use of this term:

Go to Pharaoh, for I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his officials, in order that I may show these signs of mine among them, and that you may tell your children and grandchildren how I have made fools of the Egyptians and what the signs have done among them – so that you may know that I am the Lord.[3]

What is notable is that the term “sign” is used for a powerful act. In the case of Moses, the powerful act was one that was a destructive act, but the pairing is helpful.

The second piece of information about signs is that they are called “signs” because a sign points to a referent. Miracles are not done in order to convince people to believe. Miracles are done to present something that otherwise could not be. In the Gospel of John, by calling them signs, the miracles are linguistically always reminding the readers that the signs are to lead them to some larger point.

This is precisely what is found in Exodus. The plagues continue not because God needs to convince Pharaoh to allow the people to go (he was already convinced, God had to harden his heart), they were done “so that you (Hebrews) may know that I am the Lord.” The signs are done to point to the identity of God and how he acts upon his people.

The Gospel of John uses this same idea to great effect. The miracles are never done just so people can be convinced to follow Jesus (in fact it does not work that way at all); rather, the miracles are done to point to a larger truth about Christ. In the Gospel of John the signs point to Christ’s glory – which then leads to belief. This is displayed after Jesus changes the water to wine, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.” The signs are present so that his disciples might understand who he truly is.

The key to understanding the significance of the revelation is in the definition of the term “glory.” Glory is a term that implies the presence of God. It is impossible to see God and live. God is too powerful and other for humans to comprehend this side of eternity. However, when God is present, what emanates from him is glory. Therefore, glory is what humans can see of the divine. This is now explaining the significance of the scene – the sign points to Jesus’ true identity – as being one with the Father. This is foreshadowed in the prologue: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” (1:15) The disciples, after seeing the sign, are led to the referent – Jesus himself as he really is.

The conclusion of the text concerning the disciples helps illustrate what the purpose of this first sign is – to complete the original call of the disciples themselves. Just before this text, Jesus has called his first disciples and he says,

Jesus answered, ‘Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.’ ⁵¹And he said to him, ‘Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.’[4]

The text promises that the disciples, in the future, will see the Son of Man as he truly is (using a reference to Jacob’s ladder). They have been told, but through his work, the disciples will see. Just as with God, it is not possible to see the Son completely, but they certainly can see his glory. This is precisely why the text says that Jesus “revealed his glory.” A revelation is something seen. Therefore, this sign (and all of the signs) are set in order to complete the calling of the disciples.

This leads to the fundamental element of all of Jesus’ miracles – they are relational. Jesus does not do miracles merely to convince people that he is real (despite modern thinking to the contrary), he performs miracles in relationship. Usually it changes every relationship – with the one receiving the miracle, the disciples, his opponents and the like.[5] It is very rare for anyone to see the miracle and not define their relationship with Christ based upon that reaction. That makes this text slightly odd in that we are told of two characters in the text who knew what happened (Jesus’ mother and the servants) and we do not know their reactions. However, the reason the Gospel of John has not presented it is that the focus, as stated above, is on the disciples. The sign is something that points them to the referent – namely Christ as he truly is.

Given the function of signs, it is in only this gospel that the signs are disputed. If one “sees the sign,” then it necessitates that it points out the referent. Therefore, opponents of Jesus, who do not recognize the referent, have no choice but to question if Jesus actually performed the miracles or not. This is most famously illustrated in John 9 at the healing of the man born blind: “The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight.”[6] This is in direct contrast with the synoptic gospels where Jesus performs miracles (rather than signs) and there is no question by anyone in the crowd that he performed them. The question rather is the source of his power (from God or from Satan): “And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, ‘He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.’”[7] This is not done in the Gospel of John because if someone admitted the sign, it leads directly to the referent. That is precisely what the Gospel of John wants and how it functions for people.

Finally, signs are not everything in the Gospel of John. Signs lead one to see the glory of Christ, but that does not mean that one understands them or accepts why this is the case. Throughout the gospel of John, people see the signs, it leads them to see Christ’s glory, but they do not truly believe. Most famously, in John 6, after Jesus has performed the sign of the feeding of the five thousand, he explains that one should not follow simply because they saw the sign (and implied its referent), but because they are truly followers. He then explains that it is only those who drink down his blood and gnaw on his flesh who truly follow him and a large number of the followers leave.

The signs therefore, are a first step. Jesus makes clear throughout the text that he wants far more than someone who admires his glory and therefore follows. He wants a mystical relationship with the community that is as united with him as he is with the father. After the first sign, he then has his activity in the temple. After this, Jesus reflects on the signs:

When he was in Jerusalem during the Passover festival, many believed in his name because they saw the signs that he was doing. ²⁴But Jesus on his part would not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people ²⁵and needed no one to testify about anyone; for he himself knew what was in everyone.[8]

Jesus knows what is in everyone and thereby also knew he was not there. His goal for humanity was unity with him: “I am in the Father and you are in me, and I am in you.”[9] It is this type of unity that Jesus seeks in the Gospel of John. This can begin with the signs, but it depends upon something far more than that.

The reason Jesus never proves who he is or what his purpose is in the Gospels through miracles is that it would not prove all that much. It might be able to convince people to recognize Christ as some type of divine being – but it would not lead them to what is true faith – the faith expressed at the end of the gospel, “for those who have not seen and yet have believed.”[10]

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[1] As a very brief note, it should be pointed out that Jesus’ curt response to the request for the miracle is consistent throughout the gospel whenever someone asks him to perform a sign. He does it, but only after making a rather short comment. See 4:47 and 11:3.

[2] John P. Meier, The Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Volume II: Mentor Message and Miracles (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 943.

[3] Exodus 10:1-2.

[4] John 1:50-51.

[5] John P. Meier, The Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Volume II: Mentor Message and Miracles (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 543. 

[6] John 9:18.

[7] Mark 3:22.

[8] John 2:23-25.

[9] John 13:20.

[10] John 20:29b.

Review of Bart Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery: the Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics, Oxford: OUP, 2013.

Bart Ehrman’s recent book presents an important thesis challenging the assertion that pseudonymity (falsely named works) in antiquity was a common practice that was widely accepted. His argument, on polemical pseudonymity, discusses the concept of pseudonymity and the reasons it was done both in theory (in the first section) and in practice (by covering a wide range of pseudonymous writings in the first several centuries of Christianity). Ehrman’s argument convinces that pseudonymity was done to be in dialogue with the other works by the same author in order to clarify (or perhaps argue a new point) but struggles to convince when Ehrman tries to do much and overstates his case about authorship and deceit.

First, it is necessary to clarify the nature of this book. Most have become familiar with  Bart Ehrman for his overly popularized works that hit the New York Times bestseller list which he regularly publicizes by getting into faux debates with popular media personalities such as Stephen Colbert. These works, such as Misquoting Jesus, Forged, Jesus Interrupted, Behind the Da Vinci Code, Why the Bible Doesn’t Solve the Problem of Evil, The Lost Gospel of Judas, and Peter Paul and Mary Magdalene, are rightly criticized as being fantastical and frankly not very precise on scholarly grounds. His popular success has brought with it scholarly skepticism and dismissal.[1] This book is not one that fits into that category. This volume is a scholarly piece made for scholars (but readable enough for the larger audience) and is over 500 pages of an academic argument. This volume is far closer in tone to his Orthodox Corruption of Scripture early in his career. Therefore, while most of his works are not written to stand up to scholarly scrutiny, this one is and therefore ought to be analyzed in that context.

Brief Summary of the Argument

Ehrman directly acknowledges that this work is in continuity with Wolfgang Speyer’s now famous comprehensive work on the topic.[2]  However, Ehrman’s goals are far narrower than Speyer’s. Ehrman only discusses pseudonymity that has polemical aims.[3] He does this, most probably, because this includes all of the works called pseudonymous in the New Testament (though Ehrman includes many texts that are not part of the New Testament in his analysis).

Ehrman argues that pseudonymity should best be considered forgery. He argues throughout the volume that our modern concept of forgery is not unlike the ancient one and therefore the term should be employed. He argues that the idea of pseudonymity (or perhaps pseudepigraphy) is neutral and that it is better considered with the connotation that forgery holds. While I am not sure I completely agree with Ehrman on this point, I will use his term “forgery” throughout the summary of his work for ease of explanation.

Ehrman acknowledges that it is a common view that our concept of forgery is a modern one that did not exist in antiquity. He addresses the issue and argues that there is very little evidence to suggest that this was not seen as a “problem” in antiquity. He argues that it is quite true that forgery was common among Christian and non-Christian works.[4] Ehrman argues that the weight evidence of the practice (when it is discussed at all) lies upon the side of its inappropriate nature rather than its value. For instance, he quotes Martial objecting to someone writing in his name:

My page has not wounded even those it justly hates, and fame won with another’s blush is not dear to me! What does this avail me when certain folk would pass off as mine darts wet with the blood of Lycambes, and under my name a man vomits his viperous venom who owns he cannot bear the light of day?[5]

And then further:

If some malignant fellow claim as mine poems that are steeped in black venom, do you lend me a patron’s voice, and with all your strength and without stopping shout, ‘My Martial did not write that?”[6]

Martial here clearly is not fond of some of the work that is presented in his name challenging the idea that it was “standard practice.”

Erhman points out that in addition to the practice being objected to, there is some evidence that there was even some serious punishment that could be meted out upon a forger. For instance, he cites Josephus who tells a story where forgery led to capital punishment: “Diophantes, a secretary of the king, an audacious fellow, who had the clever knack of imitating any handwriting; and who, after numerous forgeries, was eventually put to death for a crime of that nature.”[7] The only problem with Ehrman’s source here is that the nature of what this certain Diophanes was said to have been forging was, after all, treason (the assassination of Herod). Therefore, it is unclear which act caused the capital punishment.  However, it is fair to say that there were consequences in some cases (though admittedly rare).

Ehrman further argues that all pseudepigraphy is deceit (and therefore forgery). Ehrman argues that a forgery has as its goal convincing the readers that someone wrote the piece that did not. This therefore should be considered forgery. Here is Ehrman’s real presentation of how all forgery should be seen together.[8] Ehrman challenges the common assertion that these forgeries were done with goodA intentions to honor the original author. He suggests that this idea comes from Tertullian’s famous quip that the author of the Acts of Paul wrote the treatise “for the love and honor of Paul.”[9] Ehrman argues that this was different in that it was not a forgery – just a false story (it is an anonymous document). However, the fine point of Erhman’s argument is that even if the author was doing it for the best intentions, it is still deceitful (the author was arguing that he/she wrote something he/she did not).[10]

Given this framework for deceit, the only way anything would not be deceptive, according to Ehrman, is if the “lie” was transparent. He dialogues with some scholars who hold this theory and argues that it does not convince. His main evidence for that is how quickly it was read as if it were written by the authors. He uses the example of the Pastoral Epistles. While it is true that the vast majority of scholars now understand these as forgeries does not mean that the same was true in antiquity.[11] Due to Ehrman’s very narrow definition of what makes something honorable – essentially only if it was not truly a pseudonym at all (i.e. if everyone knew who the real author was), he essentially creates his own data. If all motivation is “the same” as either being deceptive or not, then all forgeries can easily be gathered together.

Following this theoretical interest in the concept of forgery, Ehrman follows with 400 pages which deal with particular texts that he considers forged. In that, he shows that not only was there many forgeries, but that they were polemical. This is his completion of his previous argument – forgery was not primarily done to honor the author, the forgeries were done to prove a polemical point. It is from this platform that he develops the idea of both forgery and counterforgery. He argues that the main use of forgery was polemics with other texts and therefore demanded that they have equal texts written by the author himself. He considers evidence such as 2 Thessalonians 2:2 which argues against letters “as though by us” – seeming to suggest that there is a previous letter claiming to be written by Paul that now needs to be challenged (which is done by another forgery to challenge that previous one).  

To support his theory, Ehrman focuses on dialogue between New Testament texts. It is long known that many texts in the New Testament seem to refer to other texts which need to be clarified. This is probably most famously done between James 2 and Galatians/Romans. For communities that did not know what Torah was (and therefore what Paul could mean when he discusses the “works of the Torah”), it was necessary to clarify that position with the common definitions of the terms for a completely Gentile audience. The best way to make sure one compared one text with another was to simply use the same name as the author. This had the double benefit of causing one to compare the works as well as give it the needed authority to take the alternate opinion seriously.

Erhman’s work is wide ranging in that he covers a variety of different topics that are developed to clarify issues via counterforgery (from eschatology to the use of the body). It is further wide ranging in its contents – it covers all of the texts in the New Testament that are usually considered forgeries in addition to several dozen other early Christian works that are considered forgeries and are polemical. The specific topics he discusses for each of these texts will not be presented in this review because the conversations are not surprising. Ehrman has a very good compendium of thoughts on these issues but for the most part, his work does not present anything that is not well known – he simply puts them all in one place.

Response to Ehrman

The relatively lengthy summary above indicated Ehrman’s main thesis – that Christians used literary deceit to prove a polemical point. Ehrman’s best argument is that texts were made to be in dialogue with other texts. This is precisely the point of having any conversation about authorship. Once one moves beyond the relatively elementary discussions of scriptural authority - after all, we do not know of a single author of the Old Testament (with the possible exception of Ezekiel) but do not consider them as less authoritative than other texts for that reason - then it is possible to see the practical value of the authorship question. The practical value is if we expect one text to be able to be interpreted by another from the same author (and therefore, one needs to know whether those two authors are truly the same).

Ehrman’s argument shows that the actual authors of pseudonymous works knew that these would be compared with other works by the same author and welcomed it. They wanted their texts to clarify how some were reading others. For instance, Ehrman argues that Colossians and Ephesians were written to counter an eschatological reading of Paul which he sees found in 2 Thessalonians (which in itself in 2:2 suggests is trying to counter a pseudonymous letter of Paul).[12]

Ehrman’s struggle here is that he tries to do too much. If he had left the conversation at the level of texts and communities, his above argument would have been more convincing. However, he instead pushes the conversation into the philosophical question of authorship. Authorship is a very difficult concept that includes many different aspects. An “author” is something that often is presented as the originator of the idea – but does that always mean the same person who wrote the treatise? Further, when is a work complete? What edition of the work is the “true work?” Can someone use a second editor and still maintain the work as his or her own? If a text is edited over time (as ancient manuscripts were), can it still be claimed as belonging to the original writer of the work? If Ehrman had simply argued on the level of a community, he would not have had this problem.

Ehrman was probably loath to work on the level of community because it challenges one of his major points. He wanted to argue that any author claiming to be Paul (but who was not) was therefore practicing deceit. However, if a Pauline community put together a communal document, the challenge that one person was claiming to be someone he was not is not as strong. Instead, the community could be putting the name of the entire community upon its founder – a far less scandalous claim. According to Ehrman’s very narrow definition of what is “deceit” and not, this still would qualify, but in a far more understandable light.

The second consequence of focus on authorship and dialogue is that he does not frame this in the far more standard position of all texts in the New Testament (forged or not) dialoguing with one another. One work which he does not consider forged (and neither do I) is the Apocalypse of John. Because it is not forged, it is not part of his discussion. However, he does discuss 1 Peter and Pauline letters. It is hard to imagine the Apocalypse without 1 Peter and a serious claim can be made that one of them knows the other. Further, Elaine Pagels (building upon the work of Paul Duff) has argued that the Apocalypse was partly directed toward Pauline Christianity which allowed the eating of food sacrificed to idols.[13] Whether one accepts this interpretation or not, it clearly shows that there is some type of dialogue between the texts. It simply is not part of Ehrman’s discussion because there is no particular issue of authorship with Paul’s letters and the Apocalypse. The problem this causes is not so much that he needs to discuss all aspect of dialogue, but that he does not even attempt to suggest that this type of dialogue between texts using authorship is part of a much wider phenomenon within the New Testament itself. Indeed much of the reason the canon of the New Testament includes 27 books rather than one is that it dialogues with itself.

Another serious challenge to his discussion of forgery is his inclusion of several texts that are not necessarily forged. He argues that the Book of James, Hebrews, and the Acts of the Apostles are forged. His argument of James seems unnecessary. If one were to stubbornly insist that the leader of the Jerusalem church, Jesus’ brother was the purported author, a reasonable challenge could be leveled that the work was forged. Ehrman takes this assertion as necessarily the case because there is no modifier for the author (it does not say James of any town or lineage) which would apparently mean he was “that James” (Jesus’ brother) who was so famous he did not need to identify himself any longer.[14] The problem with this thesis is that it is an argument from silence. Further, if this was Jesus’ brother, it is very surprising that he would not use that anywhere in the text. Further, this argument would present Jesus’ brother who writes a text that does not mention Jesus except for two times in passing. This is all dependent upon the idea that an unidentified James must be Jesus’ brother.

Even more question can be raised about his discussion of Acts and Hebrews. Neither of these texts states an author (and he himself calls them “non-pseudepigraphic forgery”) suggesting that they each imply an author without stating one. He points to the last chapter of Hebrews which indicates connection with Pauline authority and the four “we” sections in Acts (Acts 16,20,21,27) which have an “embedded forgery” within it as we are to conclude that the traveling companion with Paul is the author.[15] The argument of the book of Hebrews smacks of a similar tone to that of his argument concerning James. We apparently are to demand he must be “that Sylvanus.” Further, when the author is anonymous, it is hard to rule out many people. His argument about Acts would be stronger if he was able to show how the Gospel of Luke shows this same interest. As it is, he does not even mention the Gospel of Luke much less explain how that fits in the larger narrative.

It seems likely that his dependence upon authorship to discuss polemics has blurred his vision once again. If the three texts are not “forged,” then they would not be discussed in his book. He wants to discuss them so that he can show their polemical nature (something that can be reasonably asserted). This would have been solved had he simply argued his case on the concept of dialogue more than forgery. While it is not completely fair to criticize someone for not including “everything,” it is far better to avoid drawing things into the full of an argument when the evidence is so stretched. It seems far better had he simply put these as footnotes that support his main thesis if the argument of pseudonymity would hold. It does not seem to have enough weight to hold its own and unfortunately can cause a reader to dismiss larger portions of his work that are on far firmer ground.

A further clarification that would have been helpful is if he had followed Speyer’s original project. To focus solely on literary forgeries that have polemical purposes, but yet include so many in such a compendious way can mislead. There are many different causes of forgery which he would still call “deceit” even though the purposes were completely different. For instance, Pelagius’s commentary on 2 Corinthians was preserved under the name of Jerome – not so that readers would compare it and use it to interpret Jerome’s work, but only so that Pelagius’s commentary would survive rather than being destroyed as the work of a “heretic” (not considering that the content of his commentary on 2 Corinthians is really not all that divergent from standard views).[16] This type of pseudepigrapha does not directly address the issue he considers (polemics), but it does call into question one of his fundamental assertions – that authorship caused one to interpret one text by another. It certainly still holds true, but perhaps it is more complicated than the simple putting of one’s name down and the eventual consequence that others would compare and interpret that work with the other works by the same author.

In all, Ehrman’s volume is worth the read and deserves serious consideration. The final quibble I have is not so much with the work as with him. In his mass market popular book surge, I simply thought him a bit of a sloppy scholar. This book shows that he is not – he simply can choose to work harder or not on a text and to be precise or not. That to me is the worst offense at all – he has much he can offer to scholarship and the academy but usually spends his time working in hyperbole. I do think there is a very good place for scholarly work to a popular audience, but not at the cost of that scholarly work. Given this type of sophistication in his thought, Ehrman ought to look to the examples of Elaine Pagels and Robert Louis Wilken for a model to work forward to keeping scholarly integrity while appealing to a much larger audience.  

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[1] I should point out that I do not  think there is a necessary correlation between popular success and poor scholarship. Elaine Pagels, for instance, has had tremendous popular success while at the same time maintaining academic integrity and rigor in her work.

[2] Wolfgang Speyer, Die Literarische Falschung im heidnischen und christlichen Altertum: Ein Versuch ihrer Deutung (Munchen: Beck, 1971) and “Religiose Pseudepigraphie und literarische Falschung im Altertum” JAC 8/9 (1965-6: 88-125.

[3] Erhman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 5-6.

[4] Ibid., 11--92.

[5] Epigrams 7.12

[6] Epigrams 7.72 both quoted in Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 81.

[7] Josephus, Jewish War 1.26.3 quoted in Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 85.

[8] Erhman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 93-132.

[9] Tertullian, De Baptismo, 17.

[10] Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 132-137.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 156-190.

[13] See Paul B. Duff, Who Rides the Beast?: Prophetic Rivalry and the Rhetoric of Crisis in the Churches of the Apocalypse (Oxord: OUP, 2001) and Elaine Pagels, Revelations: Visions, Prophecy, & Politics in the Book of Revelation (New York : Viking Penguin, 2012).

[14] Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery, 282-2Pe90.

[15] Ibid., 264-265.

[16] I am thankful for Wilbert Stelzer for this insight which was developed from his unpublished dissertation, The Biblical Text of Pelagius in His Commentary on 2 Corinthians: A New Reconstruction out of Concordia Seminary, St. Louis.

Review of Reza Aslan, Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth

Reza Aslan, Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, New York: Random House, 2013 ISBN 97814000069224

First, as a disclaimer, I am somewhat uncomfortable doing a true scholarly analysis of a book such as Reza Aslan’s. The reason is that Aslan wrote this unapologetically for popular rather than scholarly consumption. As such, a true scholarly critique would, of course, poke holes in the analysis of a book which was written to be a best seller. However, as several people have requested I analyze it, I feel obligated to do so. I should note, however, that despite the viral Fox News interview, none of this analysis will have anything to do with the fact that Aslan is a Muslim. This review is entirely about the content of the book rather than psychoanalysis of its author.

Reza Aslan’s book on the historical Jesus uses the facts about Jesus which can be proven and uses that to create a sketch of a Jesus that he feels is most likely. Second, he has a short unit which is not about the historical Jesus at all, but his discussion of why his historical Jesus was not preserved and the traditional understanding of Jesus as found in the New Testament was developed. His book is very provocatively written and is very accessible. This review will first look at his picture of the historical Jesus which is relatively standard and then his discussion of the first several centuries of Christianity which is unfortunately very poorly constructed.  

Reza Aslan’s book is a historical sketch about what can be proved about the life of Jesus. Aslan’s approach is completely historical at the beginning – he looks at the biography of Jesus and discusses what are verifiable facts about the figure who roamed Roman Palestine two thousand years ago. As it is a construction of the verifiable, provable facts (rather than things that may have happened but cannot be proven), the number of verifiable things are necessarily less than the picture presented in the New Testament.

Aslan begins his book by constructing the world of first century Roman Palestine. He focuses primarily on economic issues regarding the class divisions in Palestine. He sees the class divisions between the Romans living in Palestine in addition (and mostly) to the aristocratic priestly class who use the temple and its rituals to increase their position. Further, he constructs a positive fiscal relationship between the priestly class and Rome in order to show the division between the priestly class and the lower class of peasants who are defined by abject poverty and a complete disdain for Rome (as well as the corrupt priestly system).

From this picture, he considers several verifiable facts about Jesus’ life to be verifiable. He creates a narrative which includes Jesus being born and raised in Nazareth, having several brothers who were followers of Jesus, baptized by the prophet John the Baptist, having 12 disciples, proclaiming himself Son of Man as in the book of Daniel, being a miracle worker and exorcist, proclaiming the coming kingdom of God on earth, which he wanted kept secret but charged absolutely nothing for, driving people out of the temple, and crucified by Rome as a bandit (lestai).  

These verifiable facts about Jesus’ life are not unique to Aslan. Many historical Jesus scholars, as he quotes, trumpet these points. Some scholars would have included some other details (for instance, he says nothing about Jesus’ use of parables), but these are mostly universal. Aslan, to his discredit, does not entirely explain why it is that scholars are confident on these matters or what criteria that he uses. The standard criteria for the historical Jesus are the following: 1). The number, date, and general accuracy of the sources for the life of Jesus (with the idea that something in many different sources is more likely historical than something that is not), 2). An event in a narrative that is contrary to the theme of the narrative (with the idea that an author does not usually invent an episode in a narrative that is contrary to one’s point), and 3). Something that makes little sense to have been invented given the cultural context of the users of the texts (with the idea that the early church had common forms it usually used and those unlike those forms are more likely historical e.g. parables of Jesus). These principles are hardly foolproof and there is nearly no event in the gospels that satisfies all three criteria.

While some events are historically verifiable, this does not necessarily mean that other events did not occur – just that they cannot be historically verified. A historical analysis is attempting to describe what probably happened. It does not mean other things could not have happened – it is just a matter of likelihood. Aslan points this out for the events of the miracles of Jesus and the resurrection.[1] He sees them as completely outside of the realm of discussion (just as they cannot be proven, nor can they be disproven). He even shows that while it might be easy for an outsider to simply dismiss the resurrection out of hand, the evidence of so many people independently citing the resurrection as a fact shows its historical ambiguity.[2]

Aslan, like all historical Jesus scholars, is not satisfied with simply listing the verifiable facts about Jesus. He uses these facts to reconstruct a full historical character. To do so, he attempts to square what we can verify about Jesus with his construction of Roman Palestine (as seen above). Further, he places Jesus in the wide range of Messianic figures in the Galilee in the centuries surrounding Jesus. The idea behind this is that the most likely figure who would arise is someone who meets the needs of his day. Again, this does not necessarily prove anything (as Jesus could well have been something people did not expect), but the study of the historical Jesus attempts to present something plausible.

Given discussion about the priestly system in Roman Palestine, it is not surprising that Aslan sees Jesus’ activity in the temple as challenging this system to be the main focus of Jesus’ ministry. He argues that Jesus is responding to the classed situation of Roman Palestine and challenging it by overturning the tables of vendors, money-changes, and buyers. He then drives out those who want to offer sacrifices and attacks the temple cult for being totally corrupt.  Aslan finds support for this idea by noting that there were several Jewish groups who expressed such zeal for the law (hence the title of the book) that they acted in similar ways (such as the Qumran community).[3]  

Aslan sees this temple scene as so significant, that he builds his character of the historical Jesus on this one aspect. Aslan explains his hermeneutic in the following quotation:

But look closely at Jesus’s words and actions in the Temple in Jerusalem – the episode that undoubtedly precipitated his arrest and execution – and this one fact becomes difficult to deny: Jesus was crucified by Rome because his messianic aspirations threatened the occupation of Palestine, and his zealotry endangered the Temple authorities. That singular fact should color everything we read in the gospels about the messiah known as Jesus of Nazareth – from the details of his death on a cross in Golgotha to the launch of his public ministry on the banks of the Jordan River.[4]

Aslan, then makes his view quite clear – Jesus was primarily a social reformer who challenged the priestly class as he fit in the temple. All other facts about Jesus known through the text will then be interpreted in this light.

While Aslan does have support in the scholarly world for some of his views, he even pushes this agenda too far by citing Jesus was arguing for an armed rebellion against Rome. Throughout the text, Aslan depends greatly upon the ideas of John Dominic Crossan and John Meier.[5] Crossan has become a pseudo-celebrity for his view of the historical Jesus as, primarily, an ethical reformer and sees Jesus’ activity in the temple as a ritual destruction of the temple and its function. Further, Crossan would agree with Aslan that Jesus’s message, while being fully religious, is also fully political. However, Aslan stands alone when he suggests that Jesus looked forward to the use of force in his ethical reformation of Israelite society.[6] This statement is particularly surprising given that he admits just two pages earlier that there is no evidence that Jesus truly supported the use of force.[7]

The second major position which Aslan holds in isolation for the historical Jesus is the way in which he argues that Jesus considered himself “son of man.” Aslan, along with plenty of historical Jesus scholars, argues that Jesus used the term son of man as his primary designation in his own life. He even agrees with many scholars that this term is built, in this context, from the eschatological book of Daniel being the heavenly being who was to come in the future to restore the kingdom of God on earth.[8] However, he argues that for Daniel this figure is a human figure that is appointed by God. He is willing to admit that the Similitudes (found in I Enoch) and 4 Ezra consider a being designated from the beginning of time who is very close to, if not actually divine, he argues that these texts are of no significance because they were written 60 years after the fact.[9] This type of simple dependence is something that surprising at best and poor scholarship at worst. He seems to think that we have most all of the texts that were available during the time period, so if we do not have a text that is from the exact same time as Jesus, then the ideas were not present. Such a view might be very reasonable for children’s video games wherein the game presents the player with all the information one needs, but not a reasonable statement for a historian who is trying to reconstruct a world which we can only see through shards.

The real support for this violent uprising is based upon another of his most important categories – how other messianic figures functioned in Palestine. Aslan wants to see Jesus as likely as possible and in so doing has to reconstruct the world of Roman Palestine. He does this by discussing other figures who claimed to be messiah and attempted some of the same reforms that he sees Jesus accomplishing.[10] This type of “one size fits all” logic leads to some of these wild conclusions hitherto unknown in the world of historical scholarship.

Aslan develops these ideas through a relatively uncritical reading of the historian Josephus. He sees all of the messiahs rising up to deal with one central issue – the spiritually amalgamated rule of either King Herod or the union of the high priest Caiaphas with Pontius Pilate. He argues that the jurisdiction of both brought about the improper temple priesthood (as it was compromised by association with Rome) and the increase of class divisions – creating a new class of Jewish aristocracy (centered around the priesthood). To do this, he depends heavily on nearly the only source for this time period – the works of Flavius Josephus. However, he does not appear to consider Josephus’s history very critically. Josephus, it has long been known, has a consistent theme throughout his text – the power and influence of Rome. Therefore, to say that Caiaphas was in the pocket of Pilate, could emphasize an inappropriate relationship between the high priest and the governor, but more likely is the explanation by Josephus as to why Caiaphas – a rather important political and social figure in Judaea while not being Roman – was able to remain in power for nearly two decades. Josephus’s solution is that he was actually in collaboration with Rome the entire time. The problem with Aslan’s book is not this one episode, but that he argues so aggressively for the critical reading of one of the sources about the historical Jesus – the gospels, but does not do the same for his other main source – Josephus.

Finally, Aslan develops many of these ideas based upon a psychoanalysis of Jesus being a disenfranchised tekton (manual laborer) who saw the class disparity first hand while working as a laborer in the rebuilding of the city of Sepphoris as a young man. He goes into some depth about the archaeological remains at Sepphoris, the rebellion that caused its destruction and rebuilding at the time of Jesus’ youth, and the higher class who paid for it.[11] However, he fails to mention that Sepphors is not mentioned once in any of the sources about the life of Jesus. This is not to say that Jesus could not have worked there before his ministry, but for someone who is attempting to reveal the facts from the sources, this psychoanalysis is highly speculative and is seemingly only accepted because it suggests Jesus getting involved with this class struggle he sees as so central.

Reconstruction of the decades after Jesus’ death

While Aslan’s discussion of the historical Jesus has some weaknesses (see above), for the most part, his discussion is a relatively common presentation which has been stated for over twenty years. However, his discussion about the generations after Jesus’ death in which he attempts to explain why the picture of the historical Jesus he reconstructs were lost is rife with inaccuracy and lack of understanding.

First, Aslan shows he does not understand many of the issues in the book of Acts and Paul’s letters by making many rather amateur mistakes. First, he falls into the common trap of thinking that Paul had a radical conversion and at that time changed his name from Saul to Paul.[12] This is completely unsubstantiated in the text and a casual reader of the book of Acts will notice that his name is not changed when Jesus appears to him on the road, but rather begins to be used when he leaves the general area of Palestine and enters into other areas of the Roman empire. Second, he seems to fail to understand the use of scriptural citation used in the New Testament. He touts that no scriptural passage supports the messiah dying and rising again as the Gospel of Luke suggests.[13] While this is technically true, the way he presents it makes it sound as if every other citation in the gospel included footnotes and direct citation. Most of the references in the Gospels to the Hebrew Bible are more typologies and cloaked references rather than clear citations (something he himself admits in his discussion about the prophesies about Jesus in the first half of the book). Third, he argues that Paul considered himself an apostle but the Jerusalem church considered, but denied him this title.[14] He says this despite the fact that neither Acts nor Paul suggest any type of discussion about this. Further, he does not mention that Acts has a very specific restriction on who is qualified to be an apostle – one who followed Jesus during his whole lifetime (see Acts 1-2). Paul automatically is disqualified. Further, Paul uses the term much more loosely as anyone who “has been sent” by Christ directly. He even is willing to use the term for a woman, Junia, in Romans 16. Therefore, to suggest that Paul wanted the title but that the Jerusalem church denied him is simply a lack of understanding.

Another glaring error in the book is his discussion about the way in which the gospels attempted to solve the problem of Jesus’ failed messianic dream. He argues that the gospels, in an attempt to avoid the embarrassment that the kingdom of God did not come when Jesus lived and died, created the concept that the kingdom of God was in the celestial, rather than earthly sphere.[15] While this might be somewhat true of the Gospel of John – which famously avoids the language of “kingdom of God” altogether (though serious question can be asked whether the discussion of “sphere” is even relevant for the Gospel of John – it is certainly not true of any of the synoptic gospels. The synoptic gospels all discuss a future coming of the kingdom of God on earth (though the Gospel of Luke does amend it saying that a portion of it is already here among the community). However, the concept of the celestial sphere for the kingdom of God is simply not present.

Another glaring mistake in order to prove his point is found in his argument for the lack of continuity between the Jerusalem church and Paul. He argues that they never agreed on the nature of Christ which came out in their relation to Judaism. Aslan argues that the Jerusalem church preserved the true historical Jesus while Paul created the heavenly Christ. He cites, as evidence, the Jerusalem council found in Acts 15 and Galatians 2. He suggests that Acts has whitewashed the conflict to make it sound like the two came to agreement whereas Paul shows us that they never agreed and were two separate entities.[16] While I do not disagree that the Book of Acts probably has whitewashed the event, Aslan fails to quote Paul in stating that after a seeming problem at first, “They gave to Barnabas and me the right hand of fellowship, agreeing that we should go to the Gentiles and they to the circumcised.”[17] While it is true that this continued to be a struggle throughout the career of Paul, it hardly suggests that Paul was so different that they could not even converse.

Finally, Aslan’s depiction of Paul’s attitude toward the Torah is outdated and leads to a radical separation from Judaism that is not necessary in Paul’s work. He bases his argument that there was a major disagreement between James and Paul that can be seen in the works ascribed to Paul and the work ascribed to James (not mentioning that there is serious question whether the brother of Jesus was the author of the book of James).[18] He argues that Paul argues for the radical abandonment of the Torah covenant and all things related to Judaism thereby stripping Jesus of his messianic revolutionary spirit. He further argues that James writes as a corrective to Paul arguing that Torah was important and that the main issue that needed to be dealt with were class divisions (considering the rich and poor in James).[19]

The problem with Aslan’s declaration is that it does not show careful understanding of Paul or James. The New Perspective on Paul (however one thinks of their conclusions about Judaism) has shown that Paul did not argue for the radical abandonment of the Torah and all things legal.[20] Rather, Paul is merely making the argument that it is not necessary for Gentiles to become full proselyte Jews in order to join the Jesus movement. Rather than abandoning the privilege and value of Israel, instead, he goes to great lengths to prove that through adoption, the gentiles are now part of Israel and the promised people.[21]

Second, Aslan does not understand the book of James very well either. He bases much of his argument on the fact that James is interested in rich and poor (which the book certainly is) but also on the fact that it values “the law of liberty” which he uncritically reads as the Torah. However, he does not mention that recent scholarship have shown that while the term “law of liberty” was not found to be a description of the Torah in any known Jewish work prior to the book of James, it was a relatively common trope about the logos (which one will find directly before this discussion in James) in Stoic philosophy.[22] Further research considering James finds more and more stoic philosophy rather than Jewish understandings of Torah in the text (it should be noted that there still is plenty of room for Jewish understanding of Torah in the text – just through a stoic lens. However, for the purposes of this argument, neither would be arguing for a literal dependence upon the ideas of strictly following the Torah in a legalistic sense which Aslan seems to be suggesting the book of James is arguing to oppose Paul).

What is most troubling about this second half of the book is that the pitfalls that Aslan falls into are not so much disagreements with scholars as much as popular opinions one who does not truly study the field might find. The first half of his book could be disagreed with in a scholarly discussion while the second half is simply poor characterization of the decades following Jesus’ death given relatively uncritical readings of the texts at hand.

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[1] Aslan, Zealot, 104 and 174.

[2] Ibid., 175.

[3] Ibid., 73-79.

[4] Ibid., 79.

[5] See John Dominic Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (New York: Harper Collins, 1992) and John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. 4 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991-2009).

[6] Aslan, Zealot, 122.

[7] Ibid., 120.

[8] Ibid., 139.

[9] Ibid., 140.

[10] For his reconstruction of the background of Jesus’ life see pages 3-70.

[11] Ibid., 38-39.

[12] Ibid., 170.

[13] Ibid., 172.

[14] Ibid., 188.

[15] Ibid., 178.

[16] Ibid., 188.

[17] Galatians 2:9b.

[18] Aslan, Zealot, 193.

[19] Ibid., 197-212.

[20] See E.P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism.

[21] See Catherine Hodge, If Sons then Heirs: A Study of Kinship and Ethnicity in the Letters of Paul (Oxford: OUP, 2007).

[22] See Matt 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, 2000).