How Shall We Proceed—and Which Scholars Can You Trust? (Part 3)

Once we are convinced of the value of evidential apologetics (see the first two articles in this web series), then the questions arise of how and where to begin. In other words, in the search for what historical research can tell us about the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, which scholars are the most responsible guides? Which books shall we read (after all, none of us have unlimited time and energy for this quest), and how can we keep from getting lost in a maze of historical evidence interpreted differently by different so-called “experts”?

One of the good things about historical Jesus research is that almost all of the main scholars in the field, at some point in their career, publish a book for non-specialists that summarizes their life’s work and perspective. From reading these shorter works we can get a fair picture of what conclusions these scholars came to in the end (and more importantly, as we shall see, we can figure out what presuppositions they began with that propelled them in the direction of those conclusions right from the start).

One book I shall lean on here in this series is not one that I would recommend (and I will explain why in detail), but there is much to be learned from the discussion of the main issues presented by the author — and, sadly, from some of the all-too-typical pits into which he falls!

In his book The Historical Christ and the Theological Jesus (2009), New Testament historian Dale Allison provided the reader with a unique perspective on the contemporary field of historical Jesus research. Written from the vantage point of a careful scholar, Allison’s work combined painful honesty about the quest for the historical Jesus with “a large dose of theological humility” about what conclusions safely can be drawn from it all.

The volume opens with a quote from David Hay that sets the tone for much that follows: “It may be necessary to live with uncertainty as an alternative to living with a closed mind.” Allison then shares the story of his own intellectual journey with the reader:

Never in Sunday School or from the pulpit did I hear anything of the modern debate surrounding Jesus and the Gospel. … I had to stumble onto the almost invisible topic all on my own, without help from the Church, and then I had to wonder, sitting alone in my bedroom, why all the secrecy? (pp. 3-4)

Eventually, Allison’s personal search for the historical truth about Jesus Christ led him to see that “the old props [of the orthodox Christian view of Jesus] — miracles, eyewitness origins, the proof from prophecy — have seemingly fallen to the ground and are in need of being themselves propped up, or maybe abandoned as everlasting ruins” (p. 4. NB: given that leading British New Testament scholar Richard Bauckham wrote a major work as recently as 2006 entitled Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony, Allison’s claim that the “old props” have “fallen to the ground” is surely an exaggeration). Allison then quoted a letter from a graduate student about “the conundrums surrounding Jesus and the New Testament,” puzzles that left this man’s Christian faith teetering on the brink of a collapse: “It has become increasingly difficult to live a life of commitment to Christ in the face of these doubts” (p. 5).

Allison’s book represents his considered response to agonized truth-seekers such as this young student. His stated goal in the book was to “set forth, as best I can, some of the tentative conclusions I have reached after years of study. It is my personal testimony to doubt seeking understanding” (p. 5). The reader gradually discovers, however, that what Allison’s personal testimony really amounts to is a salvage operation: a sincere and somewhat desperate attempt to recover a more or less probable, and very general account of what Jesus really said and did that might have some lasting religious value. This mere residue of the gospel portrait of Jesus might thereby prevent (so he hopes) the total shipwreck of faith in Christ that so often befalls those students who honestly face the findings of contemporary Jesus research.

This is a “Gospel-Lite” solution, to be sure. The question the reader will want to have answered is whether Allison was right in claiming that what he presented is all we can know with any confidence about what Jesus said and did — and, in any case, whether that is enough to form the basis even for the slimmed-down version of faith in Christ that Allison sought to preserve.

Why do so many historical Jesus scholars end up in this state: hanging off the edge of a cliff, trying desperately to hold on to some kind of faith by clinging to the few twigs and branches left of the gospel story after their research is through?

Let’s find out why Allison and so many others end up there — and why we don’t have to ourselves.

The Uncertain Results of the Quest for the Historical Jesus

Throughout the book, the author argues that any claim that contemporary Jesus research has reached a “scholarly consensus” of “assured results” is largely unfounded (which, by the way, is surely one reason why he heard so little about the scholarly quest for the historical Jesus in Sunday School or from his parish pulpit: because most pastors know very well that the results of the quest are highly speculative, and constantly in flux. Today’s “assured result” quickly becomes dated and debatable). Allison neatly sums up for us the present state of the field:

If contemporary theology wants to include the historical Jesus in its discourse, it is up against grave obstacles, because his identity is unclear. More than one historical Jesus resides between today’s book covers. We indeed have a plethora of them. There is the Jesus of Tom Wright, a Jewish prophet and almost, it seems, orthodox Christian. There is the Jesus of Marcus Borg, a religious mystic who dispensed perennial wisdom. There is the Jesus of E.P. Sanders, a Jewish eschatological prophet a la Albert Schweitzer. There is the Jesus of John Dominic Crossan, a Galilean but Cynic-like peasant whose vision of an egalitarian kingdom and non-violent God stood in stark contrast to the power politics of Roman domination. One could go on. To the outsider, theories about Jesus must seem to criss- cross each other to create a maze of contradictions. For the portraits, which serve different constituencies in the marketplace, are to a large degree not complimentary but contradictory. (pp. 8-9)

Just as Albert Schweitzer did a century ago, Allison attributes this cacophony of scholarly voices on the historical Jesus largely to the personal, theological and philosophical “predilections” of the scholars themselves. In short, academic historians tend to find the Jesus they want to find:

It remains the case that much Jesus research appears captive to ideological predilections in worrisome ways. If we could but peer beneath all the sophisticated arguments, we would find that much of the disparity in our field is not unrelated to intractable differences of philosophical outlook and religious commitment. Professional historians are not bloodless templates passively registering the facts: we actively and imaginatively project. Our rationality cannot be extricated from our sentiments and feelings, our hopes and fears, our hunches and ambitions. (p.20)

Given that this book specializes in facing the brutal facts about the contemporary field of Jesus research, one would have wished that Allison had said a bit more about that last word: “ambitions.” It was Alister McGrath at Oxford some years ago who noted that in the world of academic biblical and theological study, one makes a reputation for oneself (i.e. sells many books, and becomes a speaker-in-demand on the conference and symposium circuit) only by saying something new and exciting. Pedantic novelty is usually rewarded as “a significant contribution to the field,” while a prudent defence of classical orthodoxy is generally marginalized, or ignored altogether. In short, to “make a name for oneself,” and to be “important” in the field of historical Jesus study is usually to offer a new version of Jesus for the reader to embrace. A half-century ago the demon Screwtape summed up with painful lucidity what often lurks in the shadows behind all this:

In the last generation we [demons] promoted the construction of such a “historical Jesus” on liberal and humanitarian lines; we are now putting forward a new “historical Jesus” on Marxian, catastrophic and revolutionary lines. The advantages of these constructions, which we intend to change every thirty years or so, are manifold.

In the first place, they all tend to direct men’s devotion to something which does not exist, for each “historical Jesus” is unhistorical. The documents say what they say, and cannot be added to; each new “historical Jesus” therefore has to be got out of them by suppression at one point and exaggeration at another, and by that sort of guessing (brilliant is the adjective we teach humans to apply to it) on which no one would risk ten shillings in ordinary life, but which is enough to produce a crop of new Napoleons, new Shakespeares, and new Swifts in every publisher’s autumn list.

In the second place, all such constructions place the importance of their “historical Jesus” in some peculiar theory He is supposed to have promulgated. He has to be a “great man” in the modern sense of the word — one standing at the terminus of some centrifugal and unbalanced line of thought — a crank vending a panacea. We thus distract men’s minds from Who He is, and what He did. …

Our third aim is, by these constructions, to destroy the devotional life. For the real presence of the Enemy [that is, Jesus Christ], otherwise experienced by men in prayer and sacrament, we substitute a mere probable, remote, shadowy, and uncouth figure, one who spoke a strange language and died a long time ago. Such an object cannot, in fact, be worshipped. Instead of the Creator adored by the creature, you soon have a leader acclaimed by a partisan, and finally a distinguished character approved by a judicious historian. (C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, chapter 23)

Allison did not claim entirely to have freed his own work from pride and prejudice. In fact, he admits that it is impossible to approach historical research “tabula rasa,” without any philosophical or personal predilections at all. Moreover, he makes the important point that some lenses with which we approach the study of the historical Jesus might actually be a help rather than a hindrance toward getting us closer to the truth about him:

Our prejudices can, it should go without saying, help us as well as hinder. I would argue that Jesus was a deeply religious personality who interpreted everything in terms of an unseen world, and that those who are themselves religious might for that reason alone be in some ways better equipped to fathom him than those of a more secular bent. Being like another can aid understanding. This is why Gentiles have learned much from Jewish scholars about Jesus the Jew. … A predilection need not always blind us. Sometimes it may help us to see more clearly. (p. 20)

Allison has hit upon the crucial point here: the presuppositions and predilections with which any intelligent person begins his/her quest for the historical Jesus will largely shape and color how they treat the evidence, and what conclusions they believe can be drawn from that evidence. As the old saying goes: watch out for that first step—it’s a doozie!

Next time: The Crucial Role of Presuppositions in Historical Jesus Research

Robert Stackpole, STD
© The Mere Christian Fellowship, 2017