When Was Matthew Written? (A First Pass)

The date of the Gospel of Matthew is commonly estimated by scholars to be in the late first century.

Raymond Brown, SJ, who places it “80-90, give or take a decade” (An Introduction to the New Testament, 172), states:

The majority view dates Matt to the period 70–100; but some significant conservative scholars argue for a pre-70 dating (p. 216).

Let’s look at what the evidence suggests . . .

 

Latest Possible Date

Scholars refer to the latest possible date that a document could have been written as its terminus ante quem (Latin, “limit before which”), and today scholars are agreed that Matthew was written before the beginning of the new century.

We will not review the evidence for this in detail, but it is generally held that St. Ignatius of Antioch, who wrote around A.D. 108, displays awareness of Matthew’s Gospel.

For example, he says that Jesus was “baptized by John in order that all righteousness might be fulfilled by him” (Ig.Smyr. 1:1). This specific motive for Jesus’ baptism is found in Matthew 3:15 and nowhere else in the New Testament.

Similarly, Ignatius warns against false brethren who “are not the Father’s planting” (Ig.Phil. 3:1). This appears to echo Matthew 15:13, where Jesus warns against “Every plant which my heavenly Father has not planted”—a statement found only in his Gospel.

It is, of course, unlikely that Matthew would have been written and then immediately be referred to by Ignatius, making it likely that the Gospel would have been at least several years earlier, putting its composition sometime in the first century. (For additional factors pointing in this direction, see Brown, 216).

 

Earliest Possible Date

Scholars refer to the earliest possible date that a document could have been written as its terminus post quem (“limit after which”).

Since Matthew describes the death and resurrection of Jesus, this would put its composition after the events of A.D. 30 or 33, but we can show it was later than that.

 

Gentile Interest

Matthew is famous for being the most Jewish of the canonical Gospels, and it appears to have been written for an audience of Jewish Christians.

However, it displays a keen awareness of the mission to the Gentiles and the role they have in God’s plan. This awareness becomes apparent in its opening verses, when Matthew breaks the normal practice of biblical genealogies and includes Gentile women in Jesus’ genealogy (Matt. 1:3, 5, and possibly 6).

Interest in Gentiles is continued in the next chapter, when Matthew records the visit of the magi to honor the newborn king (Matt. 2:1-12).

We will not recount every passage in which Matthew displays interest in Gentiles and their role in God’s plan, but a number of passages are striking, as when Jesus declares:

Not even in Israel have I found such faith. I tell you, many will come from east and west and sit at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the sons of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness (Matt. 8:10-12).

I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a nation producing the fruits of it (Matt. 21:43).

And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached throughout the whole world, as a testimony to all nations (Matt. 24:14).

The theme of Gentile mission comes to a climax at the very end of the Gospel, in the Great Commission, where Jesus declares:

Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit (Matt. 28:19).

The full significance of the last passage is often lost in translation, because English speakers are generally unaware that the word used for nations—ethnê—is the same word translated “Gentiles” in other contexts.

It is difficult not to conclude that—from the beginning of his Gospel to its end—Matthew is carefully building a case for his Jewish audience that it is appropriate to evangelize Gentiles and include them in the Christian community.

This case needed to be laid because this issue was controversial in first century Jewish Christian circles, and many held that Gentiles needed to be circumcised and become Jews to be saved as Christians (see Acts 10-11, 15, Galatians 1-2).

The controversy started when the Gospel began to be preached to Gentiles at Antioch (Acts 11:19-21), and it accelerated following the Gentile conversions that occurred during Paul’s First Missionary Journey (Acts 13-14), leading to the council in Acts 15.

Despite the council, the controversy continued for some years, as Paul continues to address it in Galatians, Romans, and Ephesians.

The council of Jerusalem took place in A.D. 49, so it would not have been appropriate for Matthew to quote from it in a biography of Jesus, but it appears that he did reach back into Jesus’ life and ministry for the facts needed to address the controversy.

That Matthew would feel the need to address the controversy—and to have so carefully built his case and made it so integral to the structure of his Gospel—suggests that he was writing after A.D. 49.

 

After Mark

For many centuries, it was commonly held that Matthew was the first Gospel to be written and that Mark then abbreviated it. This proposal, which was entertained by St. Augustine, is thus known as the Augustinian Hypothesis.

However, this view has fallen out of favor in recent centuries.

Although I’ve been sympathetic to the idea that Matthew wrote first, a detailed study of the evidence convinced me that the reverse was true, and that Matthew not only wrote after Mark, he used Mark as one of his principal sources.

This would place the composition of Matthew’s Gospel after that of Mark’s—and we can reasonably date that to the A.D. 50s. Two lines of evidence support this:

  • Luke also used Mark as one of his sources, and Luke appears to have been written around A.D. 59, just before he composed the book of Acts, whose narrative cuts off suddenly in A.D. 60, when Paul is awaiting his first trial in Rome.
  • Various factors indicate that Mark based his Gospel on the reminiscences of Peter, whose traveling companion he had become. However, Mark did not become Peter’s companion until after his partnership with Paul was severed following the Jerusalem Council of A.D. 49 (see Acts 15:36-39). Therefore, Mark became Peter’s companion sometime in the 50s.

For Mark to have time to write his Gospel, and for it to have come into Luke’s possession, it is thus likely that Mark wrote sometime in the mid-50s, say A.D. 55.

We can thus infer that Matthew wrote sometime between about 55 and 100.

But we can narrow this down further, as we will see next time.

When Was the Gospel of Mark Written?

The Gospel of Mark is widely regarded by scholars today as the first of the Gospels to be penned. But when, specifically, did that happen?

Let’s take a look at the evidence . . .

 

Was Mark First?

For many centuries, it was commonly held that Matthew was the first of the Gospels to be written, and that Mark then abridged Matthew to make it shorter. This view is known as the Augustinian Hypothesis, since St. Augustine proposed it.

As the author of a book on the Church Fathers, I take the views expressed in early centuries seriously.

However, after a careful study of the issue, I was forced to conclude that the Augustinian Hypothesis is incorrect, that Mark wrote first and then Matthew expanded it.

I explain the reasons for this here.

 

Mark’s Relationship to Luke

It is widely recognized that Luke—like Matthew—used Mark as one of his sources.

Luke even refers to prior written sources in his prologue, telling his patron Theophilus that “many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things which have been accomplished among us” (Luke 1:1).

The fact that Mark was one of those narratives is confirmed by the fact that Luke uses about 55% of the material in Mark (B. H. Streeter, The Four Gospels, 160).

This means that we can place the composition of Mark sometime before that of Luke.

In our previous post we saw that there are good reasons to hold that Luke was written around A.D. 59, which would then be the latest possible date for Mark.

However, it is probable that it was written some time before that.

How much before?

 

Mark’s Life Story

We first meet Mark in Acts 12:12, when Peter visits the house of his mother in Jerusalem.

In Acts 12:25, Barnabas and Paul take Mark with them when they return from Jerusalem to their home base in Antioch.

In the next chapter, the Holy Spirit calls Barnabas and Paul to embark on the First Missionary Journey (Acts 13:2), and they take Mark with them.

However, we later learn (Acts 15:38) that Mark had turned back early in the journey, when they reached Pamphylia on the southern coast of modern Turkey.

Thus when Paul and Barnabas were preparing to set out on the Second Missionary Journey, a dispute arose between them:

Barnabas wanted to take with them John called Mark. But Paul thought best not to take with them one who had withdrawn from them in Pamphylia, and had not gone with them to the work. And there arose a sharp contention, so that they separated from each other; Barnabas took Mark with him and sailed away to Cyprus (Acts 15:37-39).

A factor in this dispute was likely that Mark was Barnabas’s cousin (Col. 4:10).

Paul and Barnabas thus dissolved their longstanding partnership over the dispute concerning Mark, and Barnabas took him on an otherwise unrecorded journey to Barnabas’s native island of Cyprus (Acts 4:36).

We know from the New Testament that Mark later formed a close bond with Peter, who refers to him as his spiritual son and who was with him during his ministry in Rome (1 Pet. 5:13).

We also learn that Paul eventually reconciled with Mark (2 Tim. 4:11).

 

Putting Dates to Events

The part of Mark’s life story that is important for our purposes is the period he spent with Peter.

We do not know when this began, but the journey that Mark took with Barnabas would have occurred in A.D. 49, and it would have taken some time. Mark thus likely became a companion of Peter in the 50s.

This is significant because the first century source John the Presbyter reveals that Mark based his Gospel on Peter’s reminiscences. The Presbyter is reported to have said:

Mark, having become the interpreter of Peter, wrote down accurately, though not in order, whatsoever he remembered of the things said or done by Christ. For he neither heard the Lord nor followed him, but afterward, as I said, he followed Peter, who adapted his teaching to the needs of his hearers, but with no intention of giving a connected account of the Lord’s discourses, so that Mark committed no error while he thus wrote some things as he remembered them. For he was careful of one thing, not to omit any of the things which he had heard, and not to state any of them falsely (Eusebius, Church History 3:39:15).

If we know that Mark didn’t become Peter’s traveling companion until the 50s, and if he had to have written before Luke was published in 59, then this means Mark must have written his Gospel sometime in that decade.

Although Mark likely heard Peter preach in Jerusalem, John the Presbyter ties the composition of his Gospel to the period when he was serving as Peter’s assistant. We should thus understand it to be based on not Mark’s memories of Peter’s preaching from years earlier, but on what he heard during their period of mutual ministry.

We should thus allow some time (1) for Mark to absorb (or re-absorb) Peter’s preaching and (2) some time for Mark’s Gospel to come into Luke’s hands and be absorbed by him.

We can therefore estimate that Mark’s Gospel was written sometime in the mid 50s, say around A.D. 55.

It might even be slightly earlier than this if Mark is the mysterious “brother whose praise is in the gospel” that Paul refers to in 2 Corinthians 8:18, since 2 Corinthians was written around A.D. 54-55.

In any event, we have good reason to place the dating of Luke in 59 and Mark a few years earlier than that, in the 50s.

What about Matthew? That’s the subject we will turn to next.

When Was the Gospel of Luke Written?

When were the four Gospels written?

Ultimately, from a faith perspective, the precise dates do not matter. What matters is that they are divinely inspired and thus authoritative for faith.

However, by showing that the Gospels were written in the first century, within a few decades of Jesus’ life, we strengthen their credibility even from a secular perspective.

Today virtually all scholars—whether skeptical or believing—acknowledge that the Gospels are first century documents.

The real question is how early in the first century they were written.

That’s what we’ll examine in this series.

 

The Importance of Acts

More than a century ago, the liberal German scholar Adolf von Harnack published a work titled The Date of the Acts and the Synoptic Gospels in which he considered this question.

As the title suggests, he considered the date of Acts first, the reason being that it’s easier to establish this date and then determine the dates of the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) with respect to it.

Acts is important because it’s the sequel to the Gospel of Luke (Acts 1:1-2), so the date of Acts determines the latest possible date for Luke.

So . . . when was Acts written?

 

Its Sudden Ending

The first twelve chapters of Acts are concerned principally with St. Peter, and from chapter 13 onward, St. Paul becomes the focus of the narrative.

Beginning in chapter 21, Paul makes a fateful trip to Jerusalem, being prophetically warned along the way that if he goes there, he will be arrested. This indeed happens, and the rest of the book is taken up with the consequences of this event.

Paul spends years in custody, and in chapter 25 a turning point occurs when the new Roman governor, Porcius Festus, arrives. To avoid having the outcome of his trial affected by the hostile Jewish authorities, Paul invokes his Roman citizenship and the right to have his case tried before Caesar (the Caesar in question being Nero at this time). Festus then replies:

You have appealed to Caesar; to Caesar you shall go (Acts 25:12).

The rest of the book is taken up with the events leading up to Paul’s voyage to Rome and what happened on that trip. Acts ends in chapter 28 with Paul under house arrest in Rome, awaiting his trial. Luke simply says:

And he lived there two whole years at his own expense, and welcomed all who came to him, preaching the kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ quite openly and unhindered (Acts 28:30-31).

That’s it! We get no resolution on what happened when Paul appeared before Nero.

 

The Significance of the Ending

Many scholars have pointed out that the book’s abrupt ending is highly significant for when it was written.

It makes no sense, if Luke knew the outcome of the trial, for him to cut off the narrative at this point. He has been building toward this climactic event for eight chapters, and yet he doesn’t tell us what happened!

This is all the more striking, because whatever happened to Paul would have suited Luke’s purposes:

  • If Paul was acquitted at this trial then Luke could portray Paul and the gospel as gloriously vindicated.
  • If Paul was imprisoned or martyred then Luke could portray Paul as gloriously and heroically suffering for the gospel, as he has done so often in the book.

We learn from later sources that the first is actually what happened, that Paul was released and conducted a further period of ministry, only to be re-arrested and martyred after Nero found it convenient to blame Christians for the Great Fire of Rome in A.D. 64.

Yet Luke gives us neither of these endings. The only reasonable conclusion is that he didn’t do this because he couldn’t: The trial had not yet happened.

Adolf von Harnack comments:

Throughout eight whole chapters St. Luke keeps his readers intensely interested in the progress of the trial of St. Paul, simply that he may in the end completely disappoint them—they learn nothing of the final result of the trial! . . .

The more clearly we see that the trial of St. Paul, and above all his appeal to Caesar, is the chief subject of the last quarter of the Acts, the more hopeless does it appear that we can explain why the narrative breaks off as it does, otherwise than by assuming that the trial had actually not yet reached its close. It is no use to struggle against this conclusion. If St. Luke, in the year 80, 90, or 100, wrote thus he was not simply a blundering but an absolutely incomprehensible historian! (pp. 95, 97).

Harnack also points out that Luke repeatedly records prophecies of future events in Acts, yet he makes no mention of Paul’s ultimate fate:

St. Luke allows Agabus to foretell a famine, to foretell St. Paul’s imprisonment in Jerusalem; he suffers St. Paul himself (on the voyage) to foretell, like a fortune-teller, the fate of the ship and all its passengers; he in many chapters of the book deals in all kinds of “spiritual” utterances and prophecies—but not one word is said concerning the final destiny of St. Paul (and of St. Peter)! Is this natural? There are prophecies concerning events of minor importance, while there is nothing about the greatest event of all! (pp. 97-98, emphasis in original).

This further reinforces the conclusion that Acts was written before the events to which it has been building were concluded.

 

The Date of Acts

So in what year was Acts written? When does its narrative break off?

This is disputed by scholars. The problem is that we do not know precisely when the governor Festus arrived in Judaea.

This is the key event for determining when Paul’s voyage to Rome began and thus when his two-year period of house arrest began.

Many estimate that Festus arrived in A.D. 59, and so Paul arrived in Rome early in 60, and his house arrest lasted from 60 to 62.

However, I have done a (currently unpublished) study of the issue, and I agree with scholars such as Jack Finegan and Andrew Steinmann that Festus arrived in 57. That would mean that Paul arrived in Rome in early 58, and his house arrest lasted from 58 to 60.

I thus conclude that Acts was written in 60.

 

The Date of Luke

The Gospel of Luke was written before Acts, but how much before? A careful study of the end of the Gospel suggests it was not long.

This can be seen by comparing its end with the end of one of Luke’s sources—the Gospel of Mark. The original ending of Mark may have been lost, but it concludes in a way that indicates what would have happened. An angel tells the women who have come to Jesus’ tomb:

But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him, as he told you (Mark 16:7; cf. 14:28).

Mark thus envisions a post-Resurrection appearance of Jesus to the disciples in Galilee. This is also what happens in Matthew (see Matt. 28:7, 10, 16-20).

However, Luke omits this reference and focuses instead on post-Resurrection appearances that occurred in Jerusalem and its vicinity (Luke 24:13-53). He makes no mention of the disciples going to Galilee. Instead, Luke records Jesus telling the disciples:

Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be preached in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you; but stay in the city, until you are clothed with power from on high (Luke 24:46-49).

Notice: Repentance is to be preached to all nations “beginning from Jerusalem” and the disciples are to “stay in the city, until you are clothed with power from on high.”

Although this difference has led some to see Luke as contradicting Mark and Matthew, in reality there is no conflict. The truth is that Jesus appeared to the disciples both in the vicinity of Jerusalem (John 20:19-31) and in Galilee (John 21:1-23). Luke simply focuses on the first location, while Mark and Matthew focus on the latter.

For our purposes, the question is: Why did Luke choose to end his Gospel as he did?

The obvious answer is that he was already planning what he was going to write in Acts. Thus at the beginning of the latter, he records Jesus telling the disciples:

But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria and to the end of the earth (Acts 1:8).

This directly echoes the end of Luke’s Gospel:

  • “You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you” refers to the events of Pentecost and corresponds to “stay in the city, until you are clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49).
  • “You shall be my witnesses in Jerusalem and all Judea and Samaria and to the end of the earth” is the outline of the book of Acts and corresponds to “repentance and forgiveness of sins should be preached in [Christ’s] name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things” (Luke 24:47-48).

Other elements of the end of the Gospel are also recapitulated in Acts, including the Ascension (Luke 24:51// Acts 1:9-11), the disciples return to Jerusalem (Luke 24:52//Acts 1:12), and their regular worship in the temple (Luke 24:53//Acts 2:46, etc.).

The presence of these elements at the end of Luke, and particularly the way he diverges from Mark, indicates that he was already planning what he would write in Acts.

This indicates that no long period of time can have passed between the composition of Luke’s Gospel and its sequel. If years had elapsed then we wouldn’t find the Gospel ending the way it does.

I therefore estimate that Luke was finished immediately before Acts, likely in A.D. 59, and that Luke used the two-year period of Paul’s house arrest in Rome to finish gathering material for and to compose his two masterworks.

In fact, much of the material found in the first twelve chapters of Acts—which focus on Peter—as well as some of the material unique to Luke’s Gospel, likely came from interviews that Luke conducted with Peter in Rome during this period.

We thus find there are good reasons for thinking that Luke and Acts were both composed in Rome, around A.D. 59 and 60, respectively.

What can we say about the other Gospels? That’s what we will turn to next.

Book Technology and the Synoptic Problem

Codex – book with leaves of parchment. Christians among first to use the codex widely, by end of 1st century. Scrolls and books were very valuable.

In the ancient world there were two forms of books: the scroll and the codex.

  • As everyone knows, scrolls were long rolls that you had to roll and unroll to read. They had the pages attached side by side to make a long, continuous strip.
  • Codices, by contrast, were like modern books. They had the pages attached at a spine, allowing you to flip from one passage to another.

These two types of books amounted to different forms of “book technology.” They worked in different ways, as the ways of accessing the material (rolling vs. flipping) indicates.

Before the rise of Christianity, scrolls were by far the most popular format for books. We have almost no references to pre-Christian books being sold in codex form, and pagans and Jews used scrolls almost exclusively when they had scribes copy books for them.

By contrast, Christians were enthusiastic users of codices. This is clear from the surviving second and third century Christian manuscripts, the large majority of which are in codex form. (See Larry Hurtado’s catalogue of early Christian manuscripts.)

Scholars have debated why the codex became so popular among Christians, and they have proposed many possible reasons. However, we don’t know for sure. Codices have some advantages, but they aren’t decisive. (See Larry Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts, and Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church).

The primary reason was likely cultural: Somebody in the Christian community started producing books in codex form—perhaps a very influential edition of a major Christian text (likely something that’s now part of the Bible)—and this became the expected form for books among Christians.

However that happened, the trend must have started in the first century, because it was clearly in place by the second century.

We can’t be certain, because there are other possibilities, but my guess would be that the influential codex that started the trend was one of four things:

  1. The first collection of Paul’s letters, which would have included Romans, 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians, and Galatians (see David Trobisch, Paul’s Letter Collection)
  2. The Gospel of Mark (the first Gospel to be written)
  3. The Gospel of Matthew (the most popular of the four Gospels in the early centuries)
  4. A bound edition of two, three, or four of the Gospels (something too long to fit in a single scroll)

Is there any way we can shed light on this question?

 

Book Technology and the Synoptic Problem

British scholar Alan Garrow has done a lot of work on the Synoptic Problem—the question of how Matthew, Mark, and Luke are related to each other.

He advocates the “Matthew Conflator Hypothesis” (sometimes called the Wilke Hypothesis), which holds that Mark wrote first, Luke used Mark, and then Matthew conflated Mark and Luke (as well as other sources).

This has been my preferred view for a long time, though I’m open to arguments for other positions.

You can watch Garrow’s videos arguing for this view here.

In his third video, he makes an argument that involves the scroll vs. codex issue. He points out, as have others, that when people were copying from a scroll, they tended to do so in a different way than if they were using a codex. This was because of the physical nature of the book, the ease of maintaining eye contact with the text being copied, and the ability to easily move between passages.

Scroll-users have a greater tendency than codex-users to:

  • Paraphrase rather than copy word-for-word
  • Keep the material they are copying in the same order
  • Switch between sources less often

By contrast, codex-users have a greater tendency than scroll-users to:

  • Copy word-for-word
  • Change the order of the material they are copying
  • Switch between sources

In light of this, what can we say about the Synoptic Problem?

 

What If . . . ?

See Garrow’s third video for the details, but we can say the following:

  • Luke seems to have been using a scroll of Mark
  • Matthew seems to have been using a codex of Mark
  • If Luke used Matthew, then he seems to have been using a codex of Matthew
  • If Matthew used Luke, then he seems to have been using a codex of Luke

Garrow argues that these (and other) considerations give us reason to prefer the Matthew Conflator Hypothesis because it allows Matthew to behave consistently: He operates like a codex-user when dealing with both Mark and Luke.

However, if the situation were reversed (a view known as the Farrer Hypothesis) then Luke would be inconsistent: He would operate like a scroll-user with Mark but a codex-user with Matthew.

These facts are certainly consistent with the Matthew Conflator Hypothesis, but I don’t think they provide a particularly strong reason to favor it. This seems to be the weakest part of Garrow’s case, and the arguments he advances in the other videos are much stronger. (There are also arguments that he doesn’t go into in the videos.)

 

Why Not?

So why don’t the above facts give us strong reason to favor the Matthew Conflator Hypothesis?

The reason has to do with the availability of books in scroll and codex forms. Scribes were overwhelmingly used to producing scrolls, and it is unlikely that the codex trend began with the very first Christian books and then instantly dominated the Christian book world. Indeed, Hurtado’s list shows that Christians were still using scrolls for centuries, even after the codex form became dominant.

It is thus likely that the first Gospel to be written—Mark—was originally published as a scroll, something supported by the fact that Luke seems to have used a scroll of Mark.

Further, books in this period were fantastically expensive due to the costs of materials and the hand copying that was involved. This means that, if you were an Evangelist, you would be incentivized to use whatever copy of a prior Evangelist’s Gospel you had—whether it was a scroll or a codex.

You wouldn’t be likely to undertake the expense of having the earlier Evangelist(s) re-copied into your preferred format. And even if you had a rich patron, he might not be inclined to go along with what he would see as a frivolous expense.

Nor would you be likely to slice up a scroll and convert it into a codex. That would produce a very damaged copy as you would be slicing through the joins where the individual sheets were attached, it would be hard to effectively bind them to a single spine, and the book would be extra thick since scrolls were usually written only on one side of the page.

The probability is that you would use the prior Evangelist(s) in whatever format you had.

If Luke was the last of the Synoptic Evangelists to write, the reason for his inconsistency in how he treated Mark and how he treated Matthew thus might simply be due to the fact that he had a scroll of Mark but a codex of Matthew—and he didn’t bother having Matthew recopied as a scroll before he set to work.

I’m not saying that this possibility deprives Garrow’s argument of all force. There is still some value in a scenario that allows the final Synoptic Evangelist to use his sources in a consistent manner. However, I do think the possibility substantially weakens this particular argument for the Matthew Conflator Hypothesis.

 

What Was the Influential Codex?

Can we learn anything from this about what the influential book may have been that kicked of the Christian codex trend?

It seems that we can.

Earlier I proposed four possibilities for what this book may have been:

  1. The first collection of Paul’s letters
  2. The Gospel of Mark
  3. The Gospel of Matthew
  4. A collection of more than one Gospel

Since it would have taken time for the codex trend to become established in Christian circles, it is likely that Mark—the first Gospel written—would have initially appeared as a scroll. This is supported by the fact—as Garrow points out—that Luke seems to have used a scroll of Mark. So option 2 is less likely than the others.

The facts we’ve seen also lend some extra probability to the idea that Matthew may have been the influential codex:

  • If Luke used Matthew then he apparently did so in codex form, indicating that the most popular of the four Gospels was already circulating as a codex.
  • If Matthew used codices of Mark and Luke then he may have been such a codex fan that he did have copies of them made in this form—or he may have had scrolls of them sliced up and re-bound. Either way, he would have been such a codex superfan that he likely then published his own Gospel as a codex.

Further, if Matthew was using codices of Mark and Luke, then—unless he were the kind of codex superfan we’ve just described—copies of Gospels in codex form were already in circulation, and they were probably separate copies—i.e., not bound together as a single volume. This would remove a degree of probability from option 4.

Of the four options, then, Garrow’s analysis causes both Mark and a multi-Gospel collection to lose probability as the influential codex—and Matthew to gain it.

However, Paul’s initial letter collection (Rom.-Gal.) is still a strong possibility.

And there are other options. We are not locked into these four. It could be that Mark was initially a scroll but—by Matthew’s time—it was available as a codex. Or that it was initially a codex but some people made scrolls of it because these were the more familiar book form. The same possibilities are true of Luke.

Either of these thus could have been the book that kicked off the codex trend—and there are other possibilities yet. The key work even could have been an influential work from the Old Testament (a copy of the Pentateuch?) or even an unknown work, though these possibilities are less likely.

Unless dramatic new evidence emerges, this matter will retain its mystery.

 

The Mystery of the Beloved Disciple

beloved discipleSomething very strange happens in John’s Gospel.

Unlike any of the other Gospels, it indicates—directly—who its author is.

And yet it also doesn’t tell us who he is.

At the very end of the Gospel, we are told that it was written by a figure who has become known as “the beloved disciple.”

But he never names himself. That’s something everyone agrees on: The text of the Gospel never directly tells us the name of this disciple.

The author chose to remain anonymous or “not named” (Greek, a(n)- “not” + onoma “name”).

That creates a mystery around him—and it’s a mystery that he chose to create, for whatever reason he had.

Most people, for most of Church history, have thought it was the Apostle John, the son of Zebedee and brother of James.

There is, however, a vigorous debate about this in some quarters.

Regardless of who you think the beloved disciple was, it’s worth looking at how he handles the issue of his identity and what light this may shed on the question.

So let’s look at the appearances of the beloved disciple in the Gospel . . .

 

Before We Begin

We should say a word about how we should look at these passages.

To fully appreciate their significance, to avoid coloring them with other ideas we may have, we should put ourselves in the position of an early reader who didn’t know anything else about this Gospel.

Treat it like a document that just fell into your hands—without “The Gospel of John” written at the front, the way it appears in modern Bibles.

Ancient documents didn’t have titles at the front like that. They just started with the text.

Also, forget that you know that the beloved disciple will eventually be revealed as the author.

Imagine mentally reading the document from the beginning—without knowing anything else—and watch the clues that accumulate.

Let’s get started . . .

 

A Man “Whose Name Was John”

In the first chapter of the Gospel, we learn about John the Baptist, only he isn’t called “the Baptist.” He’s just called “John”:

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John (John 1:6).

We are expected to already know about this figure. For example, we are expected to know that he was eventually sent to prison—a fact that the author drops on us without any further explanation, at one point simply saying, “John had not yet been put in prison” (John 3:24).

From one perspective, this is not surprising since the fourth Gospel appears to have been written as a way of supplementing the information found in other Gospels, such as Mark’s (see here).

The Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) tell the story of John the Baptist’s imprisonment, so the fourth Gospel can assume that we know about it.

But early Christian tradition contained multiple figures named “John,” which was one of the most common Palestinian Jewish male names in the first century. Individuals who bore it included John the Baptist, John son of Zebedee, and John Mark, the author of the second Gospel.

It’s thus surprising that the fourth Gospel simply refers to the Baptist as “John,” without adding “the Baptist” the way the Synoptics do.

In fact, this John is the only person called “John” in the entire fourth Gospel.

This is potentially significant, and it suggests that the author—for some reason—wanted to keep the name “John” focused exclusively on the Baptist.

 

  1. Meeting Jesus

A bit later in the first chapter of the Gospel, we learn that John had disciples:

The next day again John was standing with two of his disciples; and he looked at Jesus as he walked, and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God!”

The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus (John 1:35-37).

We thus encounter two anonymous disciples who begin following Jesus and presumably become Jesus’ disciples.

We also learn one of their names. One is “Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother” (John 1:40). But the other disciple remains unnamed.

Why is that?

If Andrew isn’t the only one who has a future with Jesus, why isn’t the other one named? This is a mystery later passages may shed light on.

 

  1. At the Last Supper

Another very strange thing happens in the final third of the fourth Gospel.

We’ve been reading about Jesus and what he did and said for more than two thirds of the book in our hands. After Jesus announces, at the Last Supper, that one of his disciples will betray him, we suddenly read:

One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was lying close to the breast of Jesus; so Simon Peter beckoned to him and said, “Tell us who it is of whom he speaks” (John 13:23-24).

Wait. What? A disciple “whom Jesus loved”? Who is that?

If Jesus loved him in a special way, that suggests he’s important. But if he’s important, why hasn’t he been mentioned before in this Gospel?

Or has he?

In this passage, we see Jesus interacting with an anonymous disciple—just like he did back in chapter 1. Could the two anonymous disciples be one and the same?

We’ll have to see . . .

 

  1. In the High Priest’s Courtyard

We encounter another anonymous disciple after Jesus has been arrested:

Simon Peter followed Jesus, and so did another disciple. As this disciple was known to the high priest, he entered the court of the high priest along with Jesus, while Peter stood outside at the door.

So the other disciple, who was known to the high priest, went out and spoke to the maid who kept the door, and brought Peter in (John 18:15-16).

It is very strange that “the other disciple” remains unnamed. He was obviously important—for he was personally known to the high priest, and it was this fact that allowed Peter to gain access to the high priest’s courtyard.

Yet he remains anonymous and is simply described as “another disciple” (v. 15) and as “the other disciple” (v. 16).

In Greek, these phrases are very close. “Another disciple” is allos mathētēs, but once he has been introduced, the author adds the definite article (“the”/ho) in front of the phrase: ho allos mathētēs.

Does anything else in the Gospel shed light on who he is?

Keep reading.

 

  1. At the Foot of the Cross

The next time the beloved disciple appears is at the foot of the Cross:

When Jesus saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved standing near, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!”

Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home (John 19:26-27).

Here we have another indication of the importance of the beloved disciple: Jesus entrusts the care of his mother to him.

And the disciple lives up to the commission Jesus gives him, beginning to care for Mary “from that hour.”

 

  1. At the Tomb

The beloved disciple is also mentioned when Mary Magdalene runs to tell the disciples that Jesus’ tomb is empty:

So she ran, and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”

Peter then came out with the other disciple, and they went toward the tomb.

They both ran, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first; and stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in.

Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb; he saw the linen cloths lying, and the napkin, which had been on his head, not lying with the linen cloths but rolled up in a place by itself.

Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not know the scripture, that he must rise from the dead (John 20:2-9).

Notice how the beloved disciple is first introduced: He is initially described (v. 2a) as “the other disciple,” and the Greek phrase is ho allos mathētēs (though here put in the accusative case).

We’ve heard that phrase before. It was how the disciple who got Peter into the high priest’s courtyard was described back in John 18:16.

The fact John uses this phrase first suggests that he expects us to recognize this person as “the other disciple” who was with Peter at the high priest’s house.

This impression is reinforced because John keeps referring to this figure as “the other disciple” (vv. 3, 4, and 8).

But now John further identifies him (v. 2b) as “the one whom Jesus loved”—the beloved disciple from the last supper and the foot of the cross.

The passage also reveals that the beloved disciple and Peter were together, and it appears that the beloved disciple is fleeter of foot than Peter (which some have suggested may mean he is younger, though Peter was not old at this time).

The beloved disciple also defers to Peter, allowing him to enter the tomb first, and he is quick to believe.

 

  1. At the Sea of Galilee

The beloved disciple also had a personal encounter with the risen Jesus when a group of disciples decide to go fishing. Notice who is present:

Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples were together (John 21:2).

There were seven people present:

1) Simon Peter
2) Thomas
3) Nathanael
4-5) The sons of Zebedee
6-7) Two unnamed disciples

Seven is a significant number in the Bible in general and in the Johannine literature in particular.

Also, we are here at the very end of the Gospel, and we are encountering two anonymous disciples—just like we did at the very beginning of the Gospel.

Could they be the same two? Andrew and one other?

The disciples spend all night fishing, and in the morning Jesus appears on the shore, but in the distance they don’t recognize him.

Jesus then asks them if they have caught anything. When they say they haven’t, he tells them to cast the net on the right side of the boat, and they miraculously get a huge catch.

That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!”

When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his clothes, for he was stripped for work, and sprang into the sea (John 21:7).

Afterwards, they all get to shore and have breakfast with Jesus, who has Peter confess his love for him three times as a way of undoing the threefold denial Peter made in the high priest’s courtyard.

Then Jesus tells Peter about the way he will die, and we read:

Peter turned and saw following them the disciple whom Jesus loved, who had lain close to his breast at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is it that is going to betray you?”

When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, “Lord, what about this man?”

Jesus said to him, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? Follow me!”

The saying spread abroad among the brethren that this disciple was not to die; yet Jesus did not say to him that he was not to die, but, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?” (John 21:20-23).

Here we learn that the beloved disciple wasn’t just important when the events of the Gospel were transpiring. He continued to be well-known in the Christian community afterward, as there was a rumor he wouldn’t die.

The fact he takes the time to debunk this rumor—to assure the audience that Jesus didn’t say he wouldn’t die—indicates that the rumor still had currency.

Presumably the audience, or at least a notable number of its members, had heard the rumor and knew who the mysterious disciple was.

This makes the Gospel’s refusal to name the disciple all the more mysterious.

 

  1. The Author Revealed

There is one more thing that the Gospel tells us about the beloved disciple: He’s it’s author.

Immediately after learning about the rumor concerning the beloved disciple, we read:

This is the disciple who is bearing witness to these things, and who has written these things; and we know that his testimony is true.

But there are also many other things which Jesus did; were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written (John 21:24-25).

For someone reading this Gospel for the first time, not knowing anything else about it, this would be mind-blowing!

The enigmatic disciple about whom mystery has been building for chapter after chapter suddenly turns out to be the author! Wow!

The author even steps out of the shadows, dropping his previous habit of referring to himself in the third person (“the disciple whom Jesus loved,” “the other disciple”) and suddenly using the first person: “I suppose the world itself could not contain the books.”

This is carefully crafted literary artistry, and that may help us put a few additional pieces in place.

 

Putting It All Together

For a reason the Gospel does not tell us, the author has chosen to keep himself unnamed throughout his work.

He’s also used a careful, “slow build” literary strategy to gradually fill in our picture of who he is. It’s a strategy that fosters a sense of growing mystery about him:

  • We first have a definite indication that something is up in chapter 13—two thirds of the way through the Gospel—when we suddenly hear about a mysterious disciple “whom Jesus loved.”
  • Then the author reintroduces himself in chapter 18 under the title “the other disciple,” where we learn he was personally known to the high priest and played a key role in getting Peter admitted to the courtyard.
  • In chapter 19 we learn that the beloved disciple was at the foot of the cross and that Jesus entrusted the care of his own mother to him.
  • In chapter 20 we learn that he was present at the empty tomb, and he was apparently the first disciple to believe in the Resurrection. We also learn that “the disciple whom Jesus loved” and “the other disciple” are one in the same.
  • In chapter 21, we learn that there was a rumor about him that he would never die.
  • Finally, we learn that he is the author of the Gospel itself.

This carefully constructed, “slow burn” pattern invites us to consider whether we may have missed anything, whether there are other pieces of the puzzle that also need to be fit in.

Earlier we noted that, given the sudden appearance of a disciple “whom Jesus loved” in chapter 13, we would have expected an account of how such a disciple first met Jesus—and that impression is strengthened even further once we know he is the actual author of the Gospel.

How could a disciple who felt so close to Jesus, who cared for his own mother, not tell us how he met Jesus? He told us about how other people (Andrew, Peter, Nathanael, Nicodemus, etc.) met Jesus.

But maybe the deliberately unnamed author did tell us: There are those two unnamed disciples in chapter 1, and—surprise, surprise—there are two unnamed disciples in chapter 21.

This suggests that the unnamed author was one of the two unnamed disciples in both cases. He was Andrew’s companion in chapter 1, and that was the story of how he first met Jesus.

Quite possibly, Andrew was the unnamed disciple in chapter 21. It would be very natural for Peter and the sons of Zebedee to be accompanied by Andrew, the fourth member of their fishing partnership. The beloved disciple simply kept Andrew unnamed on this occasion to mirror chapter 1.

We would then have seven appearances of the beloved disciple in the Gospel:

  1. His first meeting with Jesus (John 1:35-37)
  2. His appearance at the Last Supper (John 13:23-24).
  3. His appearance at the high priest’s house (John 18:15-16)
  4. His appearance at the foot of the Cross (John 19:26-27)
  5. His appearance at the empty tomb (John 20:2-9)
  6. His appearance at the Sea of Galilee (John 21:2-23)
  7. His self-revelation as the author (John 21:24-25)

This arrangement is not certain, because there are other ways one could divide the material (some of which also would add up to seven).

However, the prominence of the number seven (including the seven disciples mentioned at the Sea of Galilee) and the author’s clear literary artistry, indicate that a deliberate seven-fold pattern of appearances may be indicated.

It’s also worth noting that all but the last of these appearances occurs in Jerusalem or the vicinity of Jerusalem. (John 1:28, as well as Matt. 3:1 and Mark 1:5, place the location of John’s baptizing ministry near Jerusalem.)

This pattern of events around Jerusalem is consistent with someone who would be personally known to the high priest. Indeed, it would suggest not just a Jerusalemite but a member of the Jerusalem aristocracy and possibly a priest himself.

It is less consistent with the profile of a Galilean fisherman like John son of Zebedee.

Also pointing in this direction is the suggestion that the author is one of the two unnamed disciples at the Sea of Galilee. If that is the case then he is not one of the sons of Zebedee, who were also present.

This does not mean the beloved disciple can’t be John son of Zebedee, but it does mean there are indicators pointing in a different direction.

This only continues the mystery surrounding the author—a mystery produced by the fact that he never names himself, not even in the last verses of his Gospel when he reveals himself as author.

For more on the debate about who wrote John’s Gospel, see here.

Who Wrote John’s Gospel?

john the evangelistIt sounds like a trick question. You’re tempted to say, “Uhh . . . that would be John?”

Yes, but which John?

A handful of names were extremely popular in first century Israel. These included Simon, Judas, James, and, John. The frequency with which they occurred sometimes makes it hard to sort out who is who.

Worse, first century Jews didn’t have last names, and sometimes a person went by multiple names (Simon, Simeon, Cephas, Peter, Simon Peter, Simon son of John, Simon son of Jonah—all the same guy).

So who wrote John’s Gospel?

There have been a number of proposals, and, as we will see, Pope Benedict makes an interesting one.

 

The Anonymous Author

John’s Gospel indicates it was written by an eyewitness to the ministry of Christ: “This is the disciple who is bearing witness to these things, and who has written these things” (John 21:24).

It is ironic that John’s Gospel—of all the four—is the only one that so explicitly points to its author, yet it does not name him.

Why?

The author was known to the first readers, so in a sense it wasn’t necessary to say his name, but there may have been other reasons. One possibility is that the author keeps himself anonymous out of humility, identifying himself simply as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.”

Another is that he is making himself a symbol—a stand-in for all of his readers, all of whom Jesus loves.

Since he was writing in dangerous times, he might want to be anonymous so that he didn’t get in trouble with the authorities, and the strategy may not have worked. If he is also the author of Revelation, as commonly supposed, he ended up being exiled to the island of Patmos. It’s interesting to note that Revelation, of all the books attributed to John, is the only one that explicitly names its author (Rev. 1:4), and it was written after he had been exiled.

 

The Case for John the Apostle

The most common view, historically and today, is that the Gospel was written by John the Apostle. What evidence is there for this?

The author describes himself as “the disciple whom Jesus loved, who had lain close to his breast at the [Last] Supper” (21:20).

This seems to put the author among Jesus’ core group of disciples, and it is an easy step from there to conclude that he was one of the twelve apostles. But which one?

Here we can use the process of elimination. John’s Gospel names several figures and thus distinguishes them from “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” Here is a list, along with their first mention in the Gospel:

  1. Andrew (1:40)
  2. Simon Peter (1:40)
  3. Philip (1:43)
  4. Nathaniel (i.e., Bartholomew) (1:45)
  5. Judas Iscariot (6:71)
  6. Thomas (11:16)
  7. Judas (not Iscariot) (14:22)

The fact seven of the Twelve are named may be intentional. Seven is a significant number that crops up in unexpected ways in John’s Gospel (and in Revelation).

If none of the above are the beloved disciple, that leaves the following members of the Twelve: James, John, Matthew, James the Less, and Simon the Zealot.

If the beloved disciple’s relationship is meant to be an especially close one (as opposed to a symbol of the love Jesus has for all his followers) that might mean he was one of the inner circle of apostles, which we know from the other Gospels to have been Peter, Andrew, James, and John.

Peter and Andrew have already been eliminated, and James the son of Zebedee was the first apostle to be killed (Acts 12:2), so there would scarcely be an enduring rumor that he would live until the Second Coming, as there was for the beloved disciple (John 21:22-23).

With the other three core disciples eliminated, that would point to John the son of Zebedee.

This is a compelling case, and it is no surprise that the dominant view historically has been that John the Apostle was the author of this Gospel.

 

Testing the Assumptions

The case above depends on certain assumptions—that the author was one of the Twelve and that he was among the core group within the Twelve. Both assumptions are reasonable, but are they certain?

There were other important followers of Jesus.

Two were Joseph Barsabbas and Matthias, the two proposed as Judas Iscariot’s replacement precisely because they had followed Jesus from his baptism to his Ascension (Acts 1:21-26). Yet they are not mentioned in the Gospels at all.

There is also Joseph of Arimathea, who donated his own tomb for Jesus to be buried in (Matt. 27:60).

Nicodemus also went with Joseph to ask Pilate for the body of Jesus, and he later helped with the burial (John 19:39).

John’s Gospel prominently features a disciple who was not a member of the Twelve but who was close enough to Jesus that others commented on how much Jesus loved him: Lazarus (11:36). As a result, some have even proposed Lazarus as the author of the fourth Gospel.

This is unlikely, one reason being the anonymity that the beloved disciple uses for himself. It is improbable that he would carefully craft the anonymous, beloved disciple identity for himself and then casually name himself in other passages.

The same reasoning makes it unlikely the beloved disciple is any of the other non-Twelve disciples mentioned in John (e.g., Joseph of Arimathea or Nicodemus).

But the point remains that there were important disciples who were not members of the Twelve. Given that, is there any reason to think that the beloved disciple might not be John son of Zebedee?

 

Not a Fisherman from Galilee?

Several reasons have been suggested. First, the beloved disciple does not appear clearly until chapter 13 of the gospel, when he is reclining by Jesus at the Last Supper (13:23). But James son of Zebedee had been a disciple as early as Peter and Andrew (Matt. 4:18-22, cf. John 1:40-42).

Second, the Gospel of John focuses largely on Jesus ministry around Jerusalem rather than in Galilee. This is what one would expect of a native of Jerusalem but not a native of Galilee like John son of Zebedee.

Third, the beloved disciple’s residence in Jerusalem may be shown by the fact that he was personally known by the high priest. This enabled him to enter the high priest’s court with Jesus. Peter, however was stopped, and the disciple had to intervene to get Peter access to the courtyard (18:15-16). The same high priest (Caiaphas) does not appear to recognize John son of Zebedee when he and Peter are brought before him in Acts 4.

Fourth, the beloved disciple may have been a priest himself, as illustrated by the fact that he knew the high priest. The second century Christian writer Polycrates agreed: “John, who was both a witness and a teacher, who reclined upon the bosom of the Lord, and being a priest wore the sacerdotal plate . . . also sleeps at Ephesus” (quoted in Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 3:31:2). But John the son of Zebedee was a fisherman rather than a priest.

Fifth, John son of Zebedee and Peter are specifically said to be “uneducated, common men” by Luke (Acts 4:13). But priests were educated, and the Gospel of John displays significant literary qualities that would not be expected from an uneducated, common man.

Sixth, at the end of the Gospel, there is a fishing expedition that includes “Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples” (21:2). These seven disciples (note the number) include the beloved disciple. But since he has kept himself studiedly anonymous, we might expect him to be one of the two unnamed disciples mentioned at the end, not one of the sons of Zebedee.

As we will see, none of these objections is insuperable. There are ways John son of Zebedee could be the beloved disciple. But they have led some scholars to wonder if the beloved disciple might be someone else.

 

The Name John

The fact the fourth Gospel is known as John’s is important.

Though none of the Gospels explicitly name their authors, their original audiences knew who had written them, and these traditions circulated in the early Church. It is hard to imagine personal names becoming attached to the Gospels if the names were totally inaccurate.

As a result, we should look for someone named John as the author of the Gospel.

John was a common name in first century Palestine. About one in twenty men bore it, so among the seventy disciples Jesus sent out on a preaching mission (Luke. 10:1) or among the 120 core disciples present at the election of Judas’s replacement (Acts 1:15), there should have been several Johns.

 

John Mark?

An interesting case is John Mark. We know that he lived at Jerusalem, where his mother had a house (Acts 12:12). Because it is described as his mother’s house rather than his father’s house, his father was likely dead.

This could make John Mark the eldest male in the household, which could explain why the beloved disciple was seated next to Jesus as the Last Supper. Even as a non-member of the Twelve, if he was the official host representing the family that owned the house, he might well be seated next to the guest of honor.

In Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict notes that, “According to the Jewish custom, the host or, in his absence, as would have been the case here, his firstborn son sat to the right of the guest, his head leaning on the latter’s chest” (v. 1, p. 225).

That could apply to the beloved disciple if he were someone other than John Mark, though. The beloved disciple appears in a clear way for the first time at the Last Supper, and if he were also the owner of the house where it took place, or the eldest male of the family present, he could end up seated next to Jesus even though he was not a member of the Twelve.

The main problem with supposing him to be John Mark is that John Mark is usually identified with Mark the Evangelist, the author of the second Gospel, not the fourth. The tradition in the Church Fathers on this point is very strong.

It also is commonly thought that John Mark appears as one of the unnamed characters in his own Gospel, such as the man who runs away without his clothing on the night Jesus was arrested (Mark 14:51-52).

His case does demonstrate, though, that there were other early disciples, not members of the Twelve, not mentioned by name in the Gospels, who were nevertheless in a position to write Gospels—and even ones named John!

Some have suggested that the beloved disciple was a priest who lived at Jerusalem but who is otherwise unknown to us. Hypothetically, this is possible, but it seems unlikely. Someone important enough to write a Gospel should have left some trace in history. So does history record any other Johns who could have written the fourth Gospel?

 

The Case for John the Presbyter

In the first half of the second century an author named Papias wrote a work on the sayings of Jesus. It is now lost, but quotations survive in works by other early authors, such as the second century bishop Irenaeus and the fourth century Church historian, Eusebius.

Papias lived early enough that he was in contact with people who had actually known Jesus. Although many had passed away by his time, some were still alive, and he names two: Aristion and a figure known as John the Presbyter (also called John the Elder and John the Priest, depending on how the underlying Greek word is translated). Note the contrast between what Aristion and John the Presbyter “say” and what the other disciples, including John the Apostle, “said” (see below).

Both Johns were associated with the city of Ephesus, and Eusebius cites Papias’s statement as evidence for the claim of those “who say that there were two persons in Asia that bore the same name, and that there were two tombs in Ephesus, each of which, even to the present day, is called John’s” (op. cit. 3:39:6).

He went to say that “it is probable that it was the second [i.e., the Presbyter], if one is not willing to admit that it was the first, that saw the Revelation” (ibid.).

St. Jerome records a common view that 2 John and 3 John were written by John the Presbyter, saying that these two letters “are said to be the work of John the Presbyter, to the memory of whom another sepulcher is shown at Ephesus to the present day, though some think that there are two memorials of this same John the Evangelist” (Illustrious Men 9). Note that the opening verse of both letters lists the sender simply as “the Presbyter.”

Scholars who favor the idea that John the Presbyter wrote the fourth Gospel have produced a number of arguments for their position.

A noteworthy one is that John the Presbyter evidently lived to a very old age. Otherwise, he would not have acquired the nickname “the Presbyter,” which in Greek means “the Elder.” If he is addressing his letters simply as “the Elder,” that would indicate an advanced age.

That harmonizes well with the rumor that the beloved disciple would live until the Second Coming (21:15-23).

This, as well as literary similarities between the Gospel and the epistles of John, suggest a common author.

 

Papias on John the Presbyter

Papias writes:

“If, then, any one came who had been a follower of the elders, I questioned him in regard to the words of the elders—what Andrew or what Peter said, or what was said by Philip, or by Thomas, or by James, or by John, or by Matthew, or by any other of the disciples of the Lord, and what things Aristion and the presbyter John, the disciples of the Lord, say” (Papias of Hierapolis, quoted in Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, 3:39:4).

 

John the Presbyter Speaks?

In the opening verses of 2 and 3 John, we read:

The Presbyter to the chosen Lady and to her children, whom I love in truth—and not only I but also all who know the truth [2 John 1].

The Presbyter to the beloved Gaius, whom I love in truth [3 John 1].

 

Pope Benedict’s Solution

In Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict takes up the question of who wrote John’s Gospel and proposes a solution that other scholars have advocated.

He notes that “the Gospel never directly identifies [the beloved disciple] by name. In connection with the calling of Peter, as well as of other disciples, it points toward John, the son of Zebedee, but it never explicitly identifies the two figures. The intention is evidently to leave the matter shrouded in mystery” (v. 1, p. 223).

Pope Benedict acknowledges the difficulty some have had with seeing John son of Zebedee as the author of the Gospel: “Can he, the Galilean fisherman, have been as closely connected with the priestly aristocracy of Jerusalem, its language, and its mentality as the Evangelist evidently is? Can he have been related to the family of the high priest, as the text hints (cf. John 18:15)?” (p. 224).

He concludes that “that such an identification is actually quite possible. The priests discharged their ministry on a rotating basis twice a year. The ministry itself lasted a week each time. After the completion of the ministry, the priest returned to his home, and it was not at all unusual for him also to exercise a profession to earn his livelihood. Furthermore, the Gospel makes clear that Zebedee was no simple fisherman, but employed several day laborers, which also explains why it was possible for his sons to leave him” (ibid.).

While it was possible for a Galilean fisherman to also be a priest at Jerusalem, Pope Benedict thinks John the Presbyter had a role as well.

In his view, John’s Gospel was based on the memories of the Apostle but put into its final literary form by the Presbyter, who served as “the literary executor of the favorite disciple” after his death (v. 1, p. 227).

He also sees John the Presbyter as the author of 2 and 3 John (see below).

These views are not magisterial teaching. As Pope Benedict famously said in the preface to Jesus of Nazareth, “this book is in no way an exercise of the magisterium, but is solely an expression of my personal search ‘for the face of the Lord’ (cf. Ps. 27:8). Everyone is free, then, to contradict me.”

The seriousness with which Pope Benedict takes the traditions connecting John son of Zebedee and John the Presbyter with the fourth Gospel, though, should not be lightly dismissed.

 

Pope Benedict on John the Presbyter

In Jesus of Nazareth, volume 1, Pope Benedict writes:

In Ephesus there was something like a Johannine school, which traced its origins to Jesus’ favorite disciple himself, but in which a certain “Presbyter John” presided as the ultimate authority.

This “presbyter” John appears as the sender and author of the Second and Third Letters of John (in each case in the first verse of the first chapter) simply under the title “the presbyter” (without reference to the name John).

He is evidently not the same as the Apostle, which means that here in the canonical text we encounter expressly the mysterious figure of the presbyter. He must have been closely connected with the apostle; perhaps he had even been acquainted with Jesus himself.

After the death of the apostle, he was identified wholly as the bearer of the latter’s heritage, and in the collective memory, the two figures were increasingly fused.

At any rate, there seem to be grounds for ascribing to “Presbyter John” an essential role in the definitive shaping of the Gospel, though he must always have regarded himself as the trustee of the tradition he had received from the son of Zebedee [Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth, v. 1, p. 226].

 

Conclusion

Our purpose here is not to settle the question of which John wrote the fourth Gospel, but it is to illustrate the lively debate that has emerged on the question and to indicate some of the factors that need to be taken into consideration.

We’ll have more to say on the subject in the future.

Editorial Fatigue and the Synoptic Problem

mark-the-evangelist-gospelSome recent discussions have employed the concept of “editorial fatigue” as a way of shedding light on the Synoptic Problem.

The basic idea is that, in the process of adapting material for his own work, a later author may grow mentally fatigued and begin to edit in an inconsistent way, retaining some elements of his source material that he originally would have meant to take out.

Michael Goulder sees this phenomenon happening in Matthew:

When an editor begins a story, he may amend freely to suit his interest; later the magnet of the text he is following pulls him into more docile reproduction. At 6.14, Mark has “King Herod,” which Matthew amends, for accuracy, to “Herod the tetrarch” (14.1); but at 14.9, in line with Mark, he has become “the king” (Midrash and Lection in Matthew, 35).

In other words, in Goulder’s view, Matthew set out to identify Herod Antipas more precisely as a tetrarch—since the Romans did not give him the title “king.” However, after adapting a number of verses, Matthew became mentally fatigued and inadvertently repeated Mark’s less exact title.

 

Fatigue and the Synoptic Problem

Mark Goodacre has sought to use this phenomenon to clarify the Synoptic Problem (see his paper “Fatigue in the Synoptics,” New Testament Studies 44(1998):45-58, online here, and his book The Synoptic Problem: A Way Through the Maze, online here).

The basic reasoning is this: If a passage in a work contains examples of editorial fatigue then this reveals that it is later than whatever source the passage is based on.

For example, multiple passages in Matthew and Luke show editorial fatigue where the corresponding passages in Mark do not. This indicates Matthew and Luke were written after Mark.

Goodacre thinks this kind of argument shows particular promise because—unlike many arguments for Markan priority—it is not “reversible.” That is, the argument can’t be easily turned on its head and used to argue that Mark need not be the first Synoptic Gospel written.

He goes on to argue that, if there was no Q document, that editorial fatigue can also be used to argue that Luke was written after Matthew.

 

A Note on Terminology

Goodacre notes that the term “editorial fatigue” was coined by Michael Goulder, who also used the term “docile reproduction” (“Fatigue,” nn. 3-4).

Both of these terms are problematic. While “docile reproduction” is the better of the two, both suffer from a common drawback: They presuppose something about the author’s state of mind—specifically, that he has gotten fatigued or that he is being docile—but these states of mind are not evident. Perhaps the reason is for the inconsistent editing is something else.

 

Herod the Tetrarch

In the example cited above, it could be the case that Matthew described Herod Antipas as a king in the latter passage because this was a common way of speaking of him in certain Jewish circles.

Mark obviously described Herod that way, and if Mark is based on Peter’s preaching, Peter may have done so as well.

In popular speech, the term “king” was applied to rulers even when they did not technically have this title. Thus the crowd cries, “We have no king but Caesar” (John 19:15), and Luke reports the Jewish leaders of Thessalonica telling the city authorities that Jesus was being preached as “another king” alongside Caesar (Acts 17:7)—both of these despite the fact it was a point of pride in Rome that the Caesars were not kings (though they functioned as such de facto).

Matthew’s concern for precision may have been such that, on first instance, he makes sure to identify Herod as a tetrarch but then, having made this point, he is comfortable using a common mode of speech.

On this view, he would have retained Mark’s second description of Herod as a king, but he did not do so because of fatigue or inadvertence. He knew what he was doing. He just had a different set of editorial priorities than modern interpreters might expect him to have.

Other proposed examples of editorial fatigue also have alternative explanations.

 

The Case of the Missing House

Mark 3:20 reports that Jesus went “home” (eis oikon = “into a house”). Later, Mark mentions that Jesus’ family arrives and stands outside (Mark 3:31).

In Matthew’s version, however, the initial reference to Jesus going home is omitted, and he simply says, “While he was still speaking to the people [or crowds], behold, his mother and his brethren stood outside” (Matt. 12:46).

Matthew doesn’t have any prior reference to Jesus being in a house, and so it is claimed that the reference to the family standing outside is an example of editorial fatigue.

But is this the only way of looking at it?

Matthew’s interjection, “behold!” (idou) signals a sudden transition in events, and it alerts the readers to the need to re-envision what is happening with Jesus.

The reader thus might envision Jesus in a crowded house with his mother and brothers showing up outside the building.

Alternately, the reader might envision Jesus out of doors, addressing a huge crowd, with his mother and brothers standing apart from the crowd in a location where they hoped to speak with him privately.

Matthew might have expected his readers to infer either of these situations—or he might have not cared which they envisioned. For Matthew, the important point is what happened once Jesus’ family showed up, not the exact details of the setting.

In any event, it is hardly likely that, having referred to Jesus speaking to the crowd, Matthew would suddenly—within eight words in the Greek text—become “fatigued” or inattentive and begin unconsciously reverting to the Markan text he was summarizing.

Indeed, the reference to Jesus’ family being outside is the exact location where Matthew rejoins the Markan text after interjecting a bit of double tradition material (Matt. 12:43-45; cf. Luke 11:24-26). How would Matthew become “fatigued” at the exact point he resumed looking at the text?

It is more likely that Matthew deliberately chose to omit Mark’s set-up for this encounter—based on his usual pattern of abbreviating Mark in the interests of concision. When he came to the later text and saw the reference to the family standing outside, he then trusted the reader to make any necessary inferences rather than bothering to add “And while he was in a house” or something equivalent.

But if this was a deliberate choice on Matthew’s part, it wasn’t a matter of fatigue but of different priorities.

Again: Matthew is letting his Markan source material peek through. The question is whether this phenomenon is best described as being due to mental fatigue, and the latter is not evident.

 

Other Terms

In light of the above, a more neutral term would be preferable for this phenomenon—one that describes it objectively rather than presupposing a particular psychological state on the part of the author.

“Editorial reversion,” “editorial preservation,” “source preservation,” or simply “inconsistent redaction” would be better.

However, in this paper we need to interact with Goulder and Goodacre, who use “editorial fatigue,” so we’ll need use the term.

 

The Concept of Reversibility

How solid is the claim that the argument from editorial fatigue is not reversible?

When an argument for a particular order of the Gospels is said to be “reversible,” this means that it has an alternative explanation which is consistent with a different sequence for the Gospels.

Let’s look at two examples of reversibility.

 

Agreement with Markan Sequence

B. H. Streeter argued that Mark was the earliest Synoptic Gospel because, when Mark’s material appears in Matthew and Luke, either Matthew preserves the Markan order or Luke does so, but Matthew and Luke don’t sequence the material in a way where they agree with each other against Mark’s sequence.

The idea that Mark was written first is not the only way to explain this.

Later scholars pointed out that if Mark was the last Synoptic Gospel written, it could also explain the sequence. On this view, Mark would have partially followed Matthew’s order and partially followed Luke’s as he alternated which Gospel he was using at the moment.

The argument based on the sequence of material is thus susceptible to an alternative interpretation and is said to be “reversible” in that those who favor Markan priority and those who favor Markan posteriority can both appeal to it.

 

Alternating Primitivity

Another reversible argument is based on the fact that, among the passages Matthew and Luke have in common (i.e., the “double tradition”), sometimes Matthew seems to preserve the more original (primitive) version of the story or saying, while sometimes Luke does. This is known as “alternating primitivity.”

The phenomenon is sometimes proposed as a reason for thinking Matthew and Luke both used an earlier source called Q. On this view, Matthew sometimes edits Q in a way that gives him a less primitive version of the material. In other cases, Luke edits Q in a way that gives him the less primitive version.

However, alternating primitivity can be explained in other ways. Stories and sayings of Jesus originally circulated orally, and this led them to take more than one form. Matthew and Luke may have simply selected the form of a particular tradition that better suited their interests as authors.

For example, if Luke had Matthew in front of him, he may have thought at various points, “Hmm. I like this story or saying and want to include it, but I want to use a different form than Matthew does.” He would then include his preferred form of the tradition, whether it happened to be more primitive or less primitive than what was in Matthew.

We can see an example of this happening in Luke with respect to Mark. When Luke comes to Mark’s version of the Eucharistic words of institution (Mark 14:22-24), he uses a different form of them (Luke 22:19-20) that is very close to Paul’s version (1 Cor. 11:24-25).

This is likely because, as a member of the Pauline circle, Luke would have heard the Eucharist celebrated with these words on a regular basis (both by Paul and his co-ministers), and thus it was the form of the words most familiar to him.

Alternating primitivity can thus be accounted for in more than one way, so it is “reversible.”

 

Are Arguments from Editorial Fatigue Reversible?

What about cases of editorial fatigue? Are they subject to a similar kind of alternative explanation?

Let’s begin by looking at one of the best cases of proposed fatigue.

 

Luke’s Parable of the Pounds

In Luke 19:12-27, Jesus tells a parable which has striking similarities to Matthew’s more familiar parable of the talents (Matt. 25:14-30).

It begins with a man setting out on a journey to receive a kingdom (19:12). Before departing, he calls ten servants and gives them ten pounds (Greek, mnas), or one pound each, with instructions to trade with them until he gets back (v. 13).

When he does return, he summons them to see what profit they have made (v. 15). One servant has made ten pounds more, so the king gives him charge of ten cities (vv. 16-17). Another has made five pounds, so he gets five cities (vv. 18-19). Finally, a third servant reveals that he didn’t trade with his pound but kept it hidden in a napkin (v. 20-21).

The king is angry and orders that this servant’s pound be taken away from him and given to the one who has ten (v. 24). This prompts other servants to exclaim, “Lord, he has ten pounds!” (v. 25).

This raises questions like:

  1. If all ten servants got a pound, why do we only hear about three of them? The other seven servants seem redundant to the parable. After mentioning the first two servants, Luke even refers to the third servant as “the other” (ho heteros; v. 20), suggesting there were only three.
  2. Why do the other servants object to the final pound being given to the one who has ten? They apparently feel he’s already been sufficiently rewarded by having charge of ten pounds (technically, eleven, since he made ten “more” besides the one he started with). But after his handling of the pound, the king gave him charge of ten cities. The latter is what their attention ought to be attracted to, as the pounds are nothing in comparison.

These factors have led scholars to propose that Luke is presenting a later form of a parable that originally only involved three servants, who weren’t giving cities to reign over.

That’s exactly what we find in Matthew’s parable of the talents: It involves only three servants (Matt. 25:14). The first is given five talents and earns five more, for a total of ten (v. 20)—not eleven—and, when he is rewarded, he is only told, “you have been faithful over a little, I will set you over much” (v. 21)—thus not specifying the details of what his future reward would be and making it less incongruous when the master gives the final talent “to him who has the ten talents” (v. 28). Matthew thus seems to have a more primitive version of this parable.

Goodacre proposes that Luke has a fondness for the number ten, or a ten-to-one ratio (“Fatigue,” 57, citing his Goulder and the Gospels, ch. 15), and so he sees Luke as having modified an earlier version of this parable from whatever source he got it—which he proposes to have been Matthew if there was no Q.

Luke’s references to only three servants and to ten pounds rather than ten cities thus appear to be examples of Luke’s source material peeking through in his adapted version of the parable.

However, this is a case of alternating primitivity between Matthew and Luke, and there is more than one way to explain this phenomenon.

Without bringing Q into the picture, it could be that Luke had Matthew in front of him and that he adapted Matthew’s version of the parable. But it could equally be the case that Matthew had Luke in front of him and, when he came to this parable, he thought, “Hmm. This version is a little confusing with the ten servants and ten cities. I prefer the simpler, more primitive version I am aware of in the traditions. I’ll use that one instead.”

 

Partial Reversibility?

It thus appears that, in particular cases of editorial fatigue—as in Luke’s parable of the pounds—alternative explanations are possible, making these cases “reversible” as points of evidence.

Goodacre seems to endorse this view when he says, after discussing a single case of Matthean fatigue with respect to Mark, “Of course the evidence of one pericope alone will not do to establish Marcan priority” (“Fatigue,” 47).

But what if we don’t just have a few individual cases of fatigue? What if we have a whole bunch?

It’s one thing if, say, Matthew has only two or three plausible cases of fatigue when compared to Mark—but it’s another thing if Matthew has dozens of them, and if there are no cases of Mark looking fatigued compared to Matthew.

We might provide alternative explanations for a handful of cases, but if there are a large number—all pointing in the same direction—then it would seem much more likely that Matthew was written after Mark rather than the reverse.

The alternative, if we are considering which author may have used the other, would be to say that Mark was an eagle-eyed editor who spotted all of the cases where Matthew looked fatigued and systematically eliminated them.

This is not consistent with the degree of precision Mark displays in other respects, but even a meticulous author would be unlikely to spot and eliminate dozens of cases, not letting any slip through.

He might catch and eliminate the most obvious incongruities (like those in the parable of the pounds), but he would likely let through minor ones if the source material had numerous instances.

It thus seems that one could make an argument for the priority of one document over another if the latter contained a large number of cases of apparent fatigue.

 

A Paradoxical Problem

Even here, though, there is a problem with this kind of aggregate argument, and it involves a paradox.

Suppose that Matthew contained three cases of fatigue that look really obvious (major examples) and a dozen cases that are less obvious (minor examples).

One explanation is that Matthew used Mark and edited inconsistently fifteen times, three of which are clearly anomalous.

But if Mark wrote using Matthew, the three obvious examples would be precisely the kinds of cases he would be likely to catch and eliminate. That means you can’t use those three cases—the major ones—as evidence Mark wrote first. You can only use the less obvious, minor cases.

The problem is that the minor ones are, by their nature, minor—that is, it’s less obvious that they’re cases of “fatigue” (i.e., anomalous preservations of source material).

Paradoxically, the evidence that one can most validly appeal to (the cases that are more likely to have slipped below an editor’s radar) is also the evidence that is most debatable as evidence.

Perhaps a truly large number of minor cases would still provide a solid case for the priority of one document, but if they’re genuinely minor cases, they could be simply evidence of a trend on the part of one author—such as an inclination to be less explicit about things than we might wish (e.g., by not being inclined to explicitly mention that Jesus had gone into a house).

To counter this, one could argue an one author shows many minor cases of fatigue of different kinds (so they aren’t part of an authorial trend), but this is a more sophisticated and robust claim than just that an author has what looks like cases of editorial fatigue.

The bare fatigue argument thus may be more reversible than initially thought.

 

Fatigue and Lukan Posteriority

In light of the above, Goodacre’s argument for Markan priority based on fatigue would need another look, but that goes beyond my purposes here. (Personally, I’m convinced of Markan priority on other grounds.)

However, I would like to look at the argument Goodacre makes for Lukan posteriority. After citing the parable of the pounds, he writes:

Nor is this parable an isolated example—there are several clear cases of Double Tradition material in which Luke appears to show editorial fatigue in his copying of Matthew, as when he begins talking about the Centurion’s ‘slave’ (Greek doulos, Lk. 7.2; cf. 7.10) in contrast to Matthew’s Centurion’s ‘son’ or ‘servant’ (Greek pais, Mt. 8.6), only subsequently to drift into Matthew’s wording (pais, Mt. 8.8//Lk. 7.7).

Or one might look at Lk. 9.5 in which Jesus speaks about when the disciples leave ‘that town’. No town has been mentioned in the previous verses, Lk. 9.1-6 (Mission Charge, cf. Mk 6.6b-13//Mt. 10.5-15). It seems, then, that Luke has copied the words from Matthew (10.14), who does have the appropriate antecedent (Mt. 10.11, ‘and whatever town or village you enter . . .’).

It could, of course, be the case that Luke is simply fatigued in such cases with a Q source better represented by Matthew. The difficulty with this idea, however, is that it seems impossible to find reverse examples, cases where Matthew has apparently become fatigued with Q, something that would be very odd given his clear tendency to become fatigued in his copying of Mark (see above, Chapter 3). This is more evidence, then, that the Double Tradition material is due not to Matthew’s and Luke’s independent copying of Q but rather to Luke’s use of Matthew (The Synoptic Problem: A Way Through the Maze, 155).

Goodacre’s fatigue-based argument that Luke wrote using Matthew but not Q thus consists of two prongs:

  1. Luke contains examples of what look like editorial fatigue with respect to the double tradition.
  2. Matthew does not contain examples of what look like editorial fatigue with respect to the double tradition (which we would expect if Matthew were using Luke or Q).

I have not yet done an analysis of Matthew’s handling of the double tradition to see if it contains cases of apparent fatigue, but it does not seem that the presumption that Matthew would display fatigue with it is a strong one. After all, Goodacre only points to two examples of fatigue in Luke’s handling of that material:

  • The parable of the talents/pounds (Mt. 25:14-30//Lk. 19:11-27)
  • The centurion’s servant (Mt. 8:5-13//Lk. 7:1-10)

If Luke only has two cases of proposed fatigue for the double tradition, it’s possible Matthew might not have any.

Goodacre also proposes a case of Lukan fatigue with Matthew from the triple tradition:

  • The mission charge (Mt. 10:1-15//Mk. 6:6b-13//Lk. 9:1-6, 10:1-12)

Whether this should be added to the above total is debatable, but even if it is—and if it and the other two cases work—it doesn’t establish a strong presumption for Matthew becoming fatigued with the double tradition (despite the way he handles Mark, which is his primary literary source).

The second prong of the argument thus looks weak. What about the first?

 

The Parable of the Pounds

We’ve already noted that the parable of the pounds is exactly the kind of thing that Matthew might look at and decide to use an alternate, more primitive form of the tradition.

It’s about as clear a case of editorial “fatigue” on Luke’s part as one might want, and for that reason it’s the kind of thing that would motivate Matthew to use another form of the tradition if he were writing after Luke.

 

The Centurion’s Servant

The way the centurion’s “slave”/“son”/“servant” is referred to is too minor and ambiguous to have much weight.

First, both Matthew and Luke use both terms: Matthew uses pais in 8:6, 8, 13 and doulos in 8:9, while Luke uses doulos in 7:2, 3, 8, and 10 and pais in 7:7.

The terms are near synonyms and are used interchangeably in this passage. Matthew simply prefers one and Luke the other, but both authors use both terms. No solid conclusions can be drawn from this.

Second, the only statement in which they both use pais is Matthew 8:8 (“my servant will be healed”)//Luke 7:7 (“let my servant be healed”).

This could be either because Luke saw pais in Matthew and repeated it (changing most but not all of the other references to his preferred term doulos) or it could be because Matthew saw pais in Luke (changing Luke’s other references to pais, though leaving the one in Matt. 8:9//Luke 7:8 as doulos since it involves the giving of orders and thus is less intimate).

Third, we’re dealing with a tiny number of instances of both words (five in Luke and four in Matthew). This is too small a sample to establish any firm conclusions.

Fourth, this story has been fundamentally recast. This is illustrated not only by the fact one text almost exclusively uses doulos while the other almost exclusively uses pais but also by the fact that Luke includes the intermediary role of both “the elders of the Jews” (7:3-4) and the centurion’s friends (7:6-8), so that the centurion never meets Jesus directly.

By contrast, in Matthew the role of both groups are omitted, making it appear that the centurion talks to Jesus directly, without intermediaries.

In light of this kind of fundamental recasting, the coincidence of a single, near-synonymous word (when both words are used) is too slender a reed on which to base any conclusions.

Fifth, the fact that Matthew omits mention of both intermediary groups makes it look like his account is the more developed and Luke’s is the more primitive.

It is more likely that Matthew would omit the intermediary groups for the sake of simplicity than that Luke would add them to a simpler text he had in front of him.

 

The Mission Charge

The third and final examples of Lukan fatigue that Goodacre cites is not found in the double tradition but in the triple tradition.

The discussion centers on the way Matthew and Luke modify the following statements from Mark:

And he said to them, “Where you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place” (Mark 6:10).

“And if any place will not receive you and they refuse to hear you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet for a testimony against them” (Mark 6:11).

In Matthew these become:

“And whatever town or village you enter, find out who is worthy in it, and stay with him until you depart. As you enter the house, salute it. And if the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you” (Matt. 10:11-13).

“And if any one will not receive you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town” (Matt. 10:14).

Notice that Matthew has greatly expanded Mark’s first statement and included a reference to “whatever town or village you enter.” (On Matthean posteriority, much of this material may have been taken from Luke 10:5-6, though not the reference to towns and villages; however, that could be based on Luke 10:1, 8, 10, or 12 or it could be Matthew’s own insertion, as we will see.)

Matthew has also adapted Mark’s second statement by omitting the reference to a “place” (topos) and adding a reference to shaking the dust off their feet as they leave “that house or town.”

In Luke, the two statements become:

“And whatever house you enter, stay there, and from there depart” (Luke 9:4).

“And wherever they do not receive you, when you leave that town shake off the dust from your feet as a testimony against them” (Luke 9:5).

Here Luke has a reference in the second statement to “that town” but no reference to a town in the first statement (or anywhere else in the preceding material in the pericope).

On Goodacre’s theory, this is due to Luke being editorially fatigued: He apparently used Matthew’s account and edited out the reference to a town in the first utterance but inadvertently included the reference in the second.

How plausible is this?

First, note that Luke’s version of the first statement is quite close to Mark’s and not at all similar to Matthew’s. Taking the passage at face value, it looks more like Luke was adapting Mark than that he was adapting Matthew.

Second, Luke’s second statement is also more similar to Mark’s than it is to Matthew’s. Both Luke and Mark refer to the disciples shaking the dust off their feet “as a testimony against them,” while Matthew simply says “shake off the dust from your feet as you leave.”

One could propose that Luke was conflating the two passages from Matthew and Mark, but this is not the way ancient authors typically worked. They did not typically knit together tiny bits of text—individual words and phrases—from two sources. Most authors would base their account on one source in one passage and another source in another passage (see Ancient Compositional Practices by Richard Derrenbacker).

Here it looks like Luke is basing his account on Mark, not Matthew, in which case he isn’t being fatigued using Matthew’s version.

Third, it is quite possible for Luke to add the reference to “that town” to Mark’s account on his own. Houses were located in towns, and Mark has already referred to “that place” (obviously a larger location than a single house) not receiving the disciples. For Luke to refer to a town here would have been a trivial modification based on what was already in Mark. No additional textual influence is needed to explain this.

Fourth, on Goodacre’s theory, Matthew himself added two references to towns to Mark’s account—one in the first statement and one in the second. But if Matthew on his own initiative could add two references to towns, Luke could certainly add one.

Fifth, if Matthew wrote after Luke, we can still explain why his version reads as it does. Many scholars have proposed that Matthew brought together material on similar topics and grouped it together, thus explaining why material scattered in different places in Luke is found in Matthew’s large speeches—one of which is the Missionary Discourse here in chapter 10. If this was Matthew’s redactional tendency, he would have drawn material from Luke 10:5-6 forward into the Missionary Discourse and made it part of the first statement, above.

This thus does not look like a promising case of non-reversible editorial fatigue on the part of Luke with respect to Matthew.

 

Conclusion

In view of the above, Goodacre’s argument for Lukan posteriority does not succeed:

  • The presumption that Matthew would have shown editorial fatigue in the double tradition material is not strong, as Goodacre only proposes two examples for Luke in this material (only one of which is convincing).
  • The editorial fatigue in the parable of the pounds is exactly the kind of thing Matthew would have caught, so we would expect Matthew to revert to the more primitive version of this parable.
  • The wording of the centurion’s servant and the mission charge is not convincing as editorial fatigue.
  • Finally, Matthew’s version of the centurion’s servant looks less primitive than Luke’s (suggesting that it is based on Luke unless we resort to Q or some other source).

Lukan posteriority thus is not demonstrated, and Matthean posteriority looks quite possible.

The Epistle of Barnabas and the Gospel of Matthew

barnabusbIn its entry on the (apocryphal) Epistle of Barnabas, the Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary states:

Although Barnabas 4:14 appears to quote Matt 22:14, it must remain an open question whether the Barnabas circle knew written gospels. Based on Koester’s analysis (1957:125–27, 157), it appears more likely that Barnabas stood in the living oral tradition used by the written gospels (Treat, J. C. (1992). Barnabas, Epistle of. In D. N. Freedman (Ed.), The Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary (Vol. 1, p. 614). New York: Doubleday).

The connection between Barnabas 4:14 and Matthew is, indeed, striking. Barnabas 4:14 states:

Moreover, consider this as well, my brothers: when you see that after such extraordinary signs and wonders were done in Israel, even then they were abandoned, let us be on guard lest we should be found to be, as it is written, “many called, but few chosen.” (Holmes, M. W. (1999). The Apostolic Fathers: Greek texts and English translations (Updated ed., p. 283). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books.)

If the last bit of this is a quotation from one of the Gospels, it can only be from Matthew 22:14, for this verse has no parallels in the other Gospels.

However, the idea that Barnabas is borrowing this from oral tradition is extremely implausible. The author introduces the quotation with the formula “as it is written”–not “as it is said.” This not only implies he is using a written source but also that he regarded it as scripture, for “it is written” is a standard formula for introducing scripture quotations.

The probability is thus that Barnabas was quoting Matthew’s Gospel, and that would let us establish a terminus ad quem (roughly, a latest possible date) for Matthew if we could establish when Barnabas was written.

It was clearly written after the destruction of the temple in A.D. 70, for Barnabas 16:3-5 refers to that event:

(3) Furthermore, again he says: “Behold, those who tore down this temple will build it themselves.” (4) This is happening now. For because they went to war, it was torn down by their enemies, and now the very servants of their enemies will re-build it. (5) Again, it was revealed that the city and the temple and the people of Israel were destined to be handed over. For the Scripture says: “And it will happen in the last days that the Lord will hand over the sheep of the pasture and the sheepfold and their watchtower to destruction.” And it happened just as the Lord said.

Precisely how long afterwards Barnabas was written is not clear, but it is certainly early. In fact, it is likely the first surviving piece of Christian literature written after the destruction of the temple. In The Fathers Know Best, I date it to around A.D. 75.

The fact that Barnabas records the destruction of the temple as a past fact (“And it happened just as the Lord said”) but Matthew presents it only as a future fact, with no notice of the prophecy’s fulfillment, suggests Matthew was written before 70.

How the Resurrection Narratives Fit Together

resurrection-33People are sometimes confused by the differences in the Gospels’ infancy narratives and their resurrection narratives. Sometimes it is claimed that they contradict each other.

I’ve already written about how the infancy narratives fit together. You can read that here.

Now I’d like to show how the Gospels’ resurrection narratives fit together, not only with each other but also with information about this period from Acts and 1 Corinthians.

When I first began studying this issue, I was startled by how easily the resurrection narratives fit together.

To see how this happens, one needs to bear in mind a few aspects of the way the Evangelists wrote, because the ancient Greek genre of a bios (“life”) worked differently than a modern biography.

In particular, it is important to note that the Evangelists had the freedom to:

  1. Choose which details they will record or omit
  2. Choose the order in which to present events
  3. Present things Jesus said on different occasions in a single, particular location in their work
  4. Reconstruct scenes to make implications clear

In what follows, we will use the material from the Gospels after Jesus has been buried. We will also deal with material from the beginning of Acts and from 1 Corinthians 15.

One passage of special note is the longer endings of Mark. The original narrative of Mark cuts off at Mark 16:8. Whether Mark stopped writing at this point or whether he composed an ending which has been lost is debated by scholars.

However, it is generally agreed that the material which follows (Mark 16:9-20) was composed afterwards—either by Mark or by another author. We will refer to it as the longer ending of Mark. Even if it was not produced by Mark’s hand, it represents traditions about Jesus that were of very early date and in circulation in the first century Christian community.

 

1) Securing the Tomb (Matt. 27:62-66)

Matthew records that, after Jesus was buried, the chief priests and Pharisees went to Pilate and asked for a guard to be posted at the tomb. This is an event recorded only by Matthew, and it does not contradict anything contained in the other accounts, which simply do not mention it.

This is not a problem, because the Evangelists were free to choose which traditions about Jesus they included in their accounts. The sheer number of traditions made it impossible to include them all—a point that John makes explicitly (see John 21:25).

 

2) The Moved Stone (Matt. 28:1-4, Mark 16:1-5, Luke 24:1-4, John 20:1)

All four Evangelists record that, after the Sabbath, on the first day of the week, certain women went to the tomb.

Matthew says it was “toward dawn” (Matt. 28:1), Mark says it was “very early . . . when the sun had risen” (Mark 16:2), Luke says it was “at early dawn” (Luke 24:1), and John says it was “while it was still dark” (John 20:1). This last statement need not mean it was completely dark, just that it wasn’t full daylight yet.

These all point to the same basic time of day, and it is likely that the women left before dawn and that the sun came up while they were involved in this effort.

All four Evangelists mention Mary Magdalene as being among the women (Matt. 28:1, Mark 16:1, Luke 24:10, John 20:1). Matthew adds that “the other Mary” was there (Matt. 28:1). This person seems to be identified in Mark and Luke as “Mary the mother of James” (Mark 16:1, Luke 24:10). Mark also adds that Salome was there (Mark 16:1), and Luke adds that Joanna and “the other women with them” were present (Luke 24:10).

There is no contradiction involved in the variation regarding which women are mentioned as being present, per the principle that the Evangelists can choose which details they will record.

We can conjecture why each Evangelist mentioned the particular women he did. For example, Richard Bauckham has pointed out that named people in the Gospels often indicate the bearers of the traditions that were drawn on by the Evangelists (see his book, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses), and so it may be that the named women were ones whose traditions of the event were used by the respective Evangelists. (After all, no men were there.)

Literary concerns may also be involved. For example, John mentions only Mary Magdalene, and it may be because he wants to keep his narrative streamlined, simple, and focused on her, because he is going to record information from her that is not preserved by the other Evangelists.

Mark and Luke mention that the women brought spices for the body (Mark 16:1, Luke 24:1).

Mark also records that the women were trying to figure out who would roll the stone away from the tomb for them (Mark 16:3).

We now come to one of the points where many people wonder how to reconcile the Gospels. According to Matthew, “there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone, and sat upon it” (Matt. 28:2), but the other three Evangelists say that the women saw that the stone was rolled back (Mark 16:4, Luke 24:2, John 20:1).

There is certainly a difference in how Matthew describes this event compared to the other three, but before we seek to explain it, we should note that the other three do mention there being angels involved (Mark 16:5, Luke 24:4, John 20:12). This will be important to understanding the reason that Matthew recounts the incident in the way he does.

All four Evangelists also describe the angels in similar terms. Matthew says his angel’s appearance was “like lightning” (i.e., dazzling) and his clothes were white as snow (Matt. 28:3). Mark says the angel wore a white robe (Mark 16:5). Luke says there were two angels “in dazzling apparel” (Luke 24:4). And John says they were “in white” (John 20:12).

All four also mention the angels’ posture. Matthew says his angel sat on the rock outside the tomb (Matt. 28:2). Mark says he sat inside the tomb, on the right side (Mark 16:5). Luke says they stood by (Luke 24:4). And John says they sat in the tomb where the body of Jesus had lain, “one at the head and one at the feet” (John 20:12).

We thus see considerable convergence among all the Evangelists. They all agree that the stone was moved back and that there was at least one angel in white/dazzling clothes there.

The differences in the descriptions are minor and concern whether the angel was seen rolling away the stone, whether there was one or two angels, whether he/they were seated or standing, and—if seated—where.

All of these details fall within the liberty that the Evangelists have in how they record events. For a start, Matthew and Mark may have chosen to mention only one of the two angels to simplify their narratives.

The angels may have sat during part of the encounter (as in Matthew, Mark, and John) and also stood (as in Luke). More likely, the angels may have sat inside the tomb (as in Mark and John), while Matthew depicted the angel sitting outside as part of his reconstruction of the scene (see below), and Luke simply recorded them being present, without meaning to imply a particular posture (the Greek verb—ephistēmi—can mean “to be present” or even “to appear”).

It is also worth noting that Mark’s description of the angel sitting on the right and John’s description of the angels sitting at the head and foot of where Jesus lay are compatible. In fact, if you enter the tomb at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, the place where Jesus lay is on the right, and the angels could have sat at its head and foot.

The most significant difference in the accounts is between Matthew’s presentation of the angel rolling away the stone and the other Evangelists’ presentation of the stone as already being rolled away when the women arrive.

Matthew’s statement (“And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone, and sat upon it,” v. 2) could be taken to mean that the angel descended in front of the women but that the events of vv. 2-4 occurred while they were going to the tomb, and the angel did not interact with the women until they arrived in v. 5. While this reading is possible, it is unlikely in view of Matthew’s statement that the angel sat on the stone, which seems to suggest the women as witnesses of his descent.

Since Matthew used Mark and therefore had read Mark’s account of the tomb being found already open, his sequencing events is likely due to literary reasons to make the implications of the event clearer to readers: Someone rolled away the stone, and the other Evangelists do not record who.

Matthew describes the incident the way he does to make it clear that it was not any ordinary, human agency that moved the stone. Neither did Jesus do so (he was already gone). Instead, the stone was moved by angelic agency, specifically to allow the women access to the tomb.

Matthew thus depicts this happening to make what is implicit in the other Gospels clear to the reader. (This is similar to the way that Matthew reconstructs the account of the Centurion’s Servant to make it clear that Jesus and the Centurion were the prime actors, not the intermediaries recorded by Luke; see Matt. 8:5-13, Luke 7:1-10). Having reconstructed the scene thus, Matthew then records the angel sitting on the stone.

Having already mentioned the presence of the tomb guards (Matt. 27:62-66), Matthew now (Matt. 28:4) records their fainting in reaction to the arrival of the angel and the moving of the stone (even if, chronologically, this happened before the women arrived).

 

3) Peter at the Tomb (Luke 24:12, John 20:2-10)

Both Luke and John record a visit by Peter to the tomb. John’s account, which is much longer, records significantly more detail. The most notable additional detail is the presence of the beloved disciple, from whose viewpoint the incident is recounted. The absence of the beloved disciple from Luke’s version is accounted for by the Evangelists’ freedom to choose which details to include.

The other significant difference is the fact that, in John’s account, the visit to the tomb occurs before any of the women have met the angels. In his version, as soon as the empty tomb is discovered, Mary Magdalene—thinking that Jesus’ body has been stolen—runs and informs Peter and the beloved disciple, who then rush to the tomb to investigate.

In Luke’s account, however, Peter’s visit occurs after the women have seen the angels and reported their message.

The difference is accounted for by the Evangelists’ freedom to choose the order in which the material is presented.

Because of John’s interest in exact chronology elsewhere in his Gospel, and because he is giving eyewitness testimony, it is probable that his version of the event is the chronologically exact one. Luke places the visit to the tomb later either for literary reasons or simply because he knew the tradition of Peter visiting the tomb but did not know or wasn’t sure where in the sequence it occurred.

Another, very minor difference in the accounts is that in Luke Peter stoops and looks into the tomb, seeing the discarded grave clothes, while in John he enters the tomb. The omission of Peter’s entry into the tomb may be caused by Luke having a lack of specific details about the event: He knew Peter went there, he knew Peter saw the grave clothes in the tomb, and he knew Peter went home, but he may not have known that Peter actually entered the tomb.

Both Luke and John record the need to stoop to see or enter the tomb (Luke 24:12, John 20:5, 11), suggesting an authentic tradition of the tomb’s physical structure.

Both Evangelists also record a confusion or lack of faith in connection with this incident. Luke records that Peter went home, “wondering what had happened” (Luke 24:12), and John remarks that the disciples “did not know the scripture, that he must rise from the dead” (John 20:9).

(John also says that the beloved disciple “saw and believed” at this point; John 20:8; this is usually taken to mean that the beloved disciple came to faith earlier than the other disciples; alternately, it may mean that he had a kind of incipient faith but did not fully understand or simply that he believed Mary Magdalene that the body was gone.)

 

4) The Angelic Message (Matt. 28:5-8, Mark 16:6-8, Luke 24:5-8, John 20:11-13)

All four Evangelists record the angel(s) giving a message to the women:

  • Luke reports that the women were terrified and bowed low (Luke 24:5a)
  • In Matthew, the angel tells the women not to be afraid (Matt. 28:5a), while in Mark he tells them not to be amazed (Mark 16:6a).
  • In Matthew and Mark the angel says that he knows the women are seeking Jesus, who was crucified (Matt. 28:5b, Mark 16:6b).
  • Luke says the angels asked why the women were seeking the living among the dead (Luke 25:5b).
  • All three Synoptic Evangelists report the angel(s) saying, “He is not here” and “He is risen” (Matt. 28:6a, Mark 16:6c, Luke 25:5c).
  • Matthew and Mark then record the angel inviting them to see where Jesus lay (Matt. 28:6b, Mark 16:6d).
  • Luke records the angels reminding them that, when he was in Galilee, Jesus had predicted his crucifixion and resurrection (Luke 24:6-7). He also records the women remembering this (Luke 24:8).
  • Matthew and Luke record the angel instructing the women to go and tell the disciples (Matt. 28:7a, Mark 16:7a; Mark mentions Peter in particular).
  • In Matthew, the angel says to inform the disciples that Jesus has risen (Matt. 28:7b).
  • In both Matthew and Mark, the angel says to tell the disciples that Jesus is going before them to Galilee, where they will see him (Matt. 28:7c, Mark 16:7b).
  • All three Synoptic Evangelists then report the women leaving to tell the disciples (Matt. 28:8, Mark 16:8, Luke 24:9). (NOTE: In Mark’s version, v. 8 ends saying that the women didn’t say anything to anyone because they were afraid. It is at this point that the original version of Mark breaks off. However, given what the women were told and what the reader knows about what happened next, this certainly means that they didn’t say anything to anyone while they were on their way to the disciples. They were not disobeying the angel; they were leaving to fulfill his instructions. They simply weren’t joyously announcing the news to passers-by as they went.)

All of these variations are within the Evangelists’ freedom to paraphrase and choose which details to record. They are clearly different accounts of the same event.

John’s account of the angelic message is significantly different, and it is the briefest. In his version, the angels ask Mary Magdalene why she is weeping, and she replies that she does not know where Jesus’ body has been taken (John 20:13). He does not preserve further interaction with them.

The reason is likely twofold: First, John expects the reader to already know the Synoptic tradition (as illustrated by the fact that he seems to have built his Gospel to interlock with the outline of Mark’s Gospel; see Richard Bauckham, “John for Readers of Mark” in The Gospels for All Christians). He thus doesn’t feel the need to repeat everything that was said.

Second, John is setting up Mary’s unexpected meeting with Jesus himself, and to convey the emotional force of this in literary terms, he transitions from the briefest account of her interaction with the angels to her unexpected, face-to-face encounter Jesus.

My assumption, in this and each of the encounters involving the women, is that they were all present, though sometimes only Mary Magdalene is mentioned because she was the major preserver of the tradition that the evangelists drew on since they weren’t there for the encounter.

 

5) Meeting Jesus (Matt. 28:9-10, Mark 16:9, John 20:14-17)

Matthew, John, and the longer ending to Mark record that, after the angelic encounter, Jesus himself appeared.

In John and the longer ending of Mark, it is to Mary Magdalene that Jesus appears (John 20:14, Mark 16:9). In Matthew, it is the same women who went to the tomb (Matt. 28:9).

The longer ending of Mark does not preserve any information about what happened during this encounter.

John’s account, which is lengthy, includes significant interaction with Mary Magdalene.

In Matthew’s version, the women take hold of Jesus’ feet and worship him (Matt. 28:9), while in John, Jesus tells Mary not to hold him (John 20:17).

In both Matthew and John, Jesus tells the women/Mary Magdalene to deliver a message to the disciples (Matt. 28:10, John 20:17). In Matthew the message is to go to Galilee, where they will see him. In John it is that he will be ascending to the Father.

While the Gospels are in agreement about the occurrence of this encounter, its specific chronology is harder to pin down. Matthew gives the impression that the women first left the tomb and then Jesus appeared to them, including Mary Magdalene (cf. Matt. 28:1). John gives the impression that Mary (presumably with the other women still there) encountered Jesus at the tomb and then left.

It is possible that all the women except Mary Magdalene left the tomb and that Jesus appeared to both. However, this seems overly complex—particularly when the issue of touching or clinging to Jesus appears in both Matthew and John’s accounts.

John’s account is the most detailed—and certainly draws on traditions from Mary Magdalene herself. John is also demonstrably more interested in specific chronology than the other evangelists. Consequently, it seems probable that the picture presented by John reflects the specific chronology of what happened.

 

6) Explaining the Empty Tomb (Matt. 28:11-15)

Matthew reports that, while the women are on their way to the disciples, the guards from the tomb return to those who sent them and an explanation for the empty tomb is concocted.

 

7) Telling the Core Disciples (Mark 16:10-11, Luke 24:9-11, John 20:18)

Luke, John, and the longer ending of Mark report that Mary Magdalene/the women delivered the message to the disciples in a body (Mark 16:10, Luke 24:9, John 20:17).

Luke and the longer ending of Mark record that the message was not initially believed (Mark 16:11, Luke 24:11).

 

8) Jesus Appears to Two Disciples (Mark 16:12-13, Luke 24:13-35)

Both Luke and the longer ending of Mark record Jesus appearing to two disciples in the country, without them recognizing him.

Luke’s account is much more detailed, and the account in the longer ending of Mark may well be based on Luke’s version.

In Mark, Jesus is said to appear “in another form” (Mark 16:12), while in Luke it is said that “their eyes were kept from recognizing him” (Luke 24:16). These need not be understood in opposition, for appearing in another form would keep others’ eyes from recognizing one. (Alternately, the miracle may have been one of induced prosopagnosia, with the resulting effect of Jesus manifesting in another apparent form to them.)

Both accounts agree that, when Jesus manifested himself, the two disciples returned and told the others.

The longer ending of Mark says that “they did not believe them” (Mark 16:13), while in Luke the other disciples have already believed the message of the resurrection (Luke 24:34).

Even in Luke, however, it is clear that the issue of the resurrection is not fully settled in the disciples’ hearts, as the forthcoming appearance to the core disciples shows. This may be the reason that the longer ending of Mark reflects doubt on their part at this juncture.

 

9) Jesus Appears to Peter (Luke 24:34, 1 Cor. 15:5a)

At this point in the narrative, Jesus has appeared to various women and to individual disciples, but he has not yet appeared to the apostles as a group.

Both Luke and Paul indicate that, before Jesus appeared to the twelve, he appeared to Peter in particular.

We can’t know whether this appearance occurred before or after the appearance to the two disciples in the country (or whether it happened concurrently, since God’s power transcends space and time).

Assuming Jesus wasn’t bilocating, he presumably appeared to Peter either before he appeared on the road to Emmaus or while the two disciples were coming back from Emmaus.

Since Jesus was not still with Peter and the disciples when the two returned from Emmaus, it suggests that some time has passed. It therefore seems probable that this appearance occurred before the encounter on the road.

 

10) Jesus Appears to the Core Disciples (Mark 16:14, Luke 24:36-43, John 20:19-23, 1 Cor. 15:5b)

Luke and John report that Jesus appeared to the core disciples on the evening of the day he rose (Luke 24:29 with 24:36; John 20:19).

In both, Jesus greets the disciples by saying, “Peace to/be with you” (Luke 24:36, John 20:19).

Though Luke previously depicted the core disciples as having acknowledged the resurrection (Luke 24:34), when Jesus stands before them, he tells us that “they were startled and frightened, and supposed that they saw a spirit” (Luke 24:37).

Jesus assures them that he has risen bodily (Luke 24:39), and shows his hands and feet to them (Luke 24:40). In John, he shows them his hands and his side (John 20:20).

In Luke, Jesus also asks for something to eat, and he eats fish in their presence (Luke 24:41-43). (This may also be a reflection of the fish-eating scene by the Sea of Galilee in John 21:9-15; Luke may have placed the tradition here to avoid a reference to Galilee—see below—or because he knew it happened but wasn’t sure when.)

The longer ending of Mark also records that Jesus appeared to the eleven “as they sat at table” and reprimanded them for not believing the reports they had heard (Mark 16:14). This appears to refer to the same event. It may be based on Luke’s account.

In John, he imparts the Holy Spirit to them and commissions them to forgive and retain sins (John 20:21-23).

Paul refers to Jesus appearing to the twelve, but gives no other details about the event. Based on the sequencing of events in 1 Corinthians 15, it is likely this appearance that he refers to (see below).

In both longer-Mark and Paul’s case, “the eleven” and “the twelve” are used as customary ways of referring to the group of apostles, even though Judas Iscariot and Thomas were not there, as indicated elsewhere (Matt. 27:3-5, John 20:24).

 

11) The Encounter with Thomas (John 20:24-31)

John, uniquely, records that Thomas was not with the other disciples during the previous encounter, and he records that Thomas did not initially believe the other disciples’ report (John 20:25). However, “eight days later” (John 20:26), Thomas is with them, and Jesus invites him to inspect his wounds (John 20:27).

 

12) Encounter at the Sea of Galilee (John 21:1-25)

John records a subsequent encounter in Galilee on the Sea of Tiberias, during which Jesus (apparently) eats fish in the presence of the disciples (John 21:9-15).

This tradition may be reflected in Luke’s reference to him eating fish in his account of the evening appearance (Luke 24:41-43), in which case Luke likely knew the tradition of Jesus eating fish and placed it in the previous encounter since he knew they were at table on that occasion.

 

13) Appearance to Five Hundred Brethren (1 Cor. 15:6)

St. Paul depicts the appearance to five hundred as occurring after the appearance to the twelve and before the appearance to James. We do not know precisely when it occurred, but this is a reasonable place to locate it.

 

14) Appearance to James (1 Cor. 15:7a)

St. Paul indicates that the appearance to St. James the Just occurred after Jesus appeared to the five hundred brethren and before his appearance to “all the apostles.”

We do not know precisely when it occurred, but this is a reasonable place to locate it, particularly in view of the fact that the scene has shifted to Galilee, where Jesus’ brothers presumably lived at this time (not yet having become believers; cf. John 7:5; and not yet having come to live in Jerusalem; cf. Acts 15:13).

 

15) Jesus’ Evangelistic Instructions (Matt. 28:16-20, Mark 16:15-18, Luke 24:44-49; 1 Cor. 15:7b)

Matthew, Luke, and the longer ending of Mark record Jesus giving the disciples a set of final, evangelistic instructions. As we will see, these instructions may have been given during a series of occasions (cf. Acts 1:3) that cannot be untangled. This is similar to the way Matthew draws together Jesus’ ethical teachings, which were given many times throughout his ministry (and which are found at different places in Luke) and presents them together in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5-7).

In Matthew, Jesus’ final evangelistic instructions are delivered on a mountain in Galilee (Matt. 28:16). In Luke and the longer ending of Mark, the place is not specified but would appear to be the same location as the evening appearance described above, in which case it would have taken place in Jerusalem. Particularly noteworthy is that in Luke’s account Jesus tells them to “stay in the city, until you are clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49).

These locations—Galilee and Jerusalem—are considered one of the more challenging differences in the resurrection narratives, but they are not problematic. There are several possibilities:

First, one could say that, just as the Evangelists have the freedom to present material in a non-chronological manner for literary reasons, they also have the freedom to present it in a non-geographical manner for literary reasons.

If so, Matthew might present his final evangelistic instructions on a mountain in Galilee because of the literary suitedness of this setting. Mountains are frequent places of encounter with the divine, and we have multiple significant mounts in Matthew alone. Galilee, for its part, was Jesus’ home base during the bulk of his ministry, and a return to a mountain in Galilee could make an apt literary setting for Jesus’ final evangelistic instructions.

However, there are other options.

Second, it may be noted that Luke—and Mark’s longer ending—do not expressly state that this is occurring in Jerusalem. This is simply the appearance generated by the fact that the last mentioned location was Jerusalem. Jesus could have given these instructions in Galilee (even the comment found in Luke telling the disciples to remain in “the city”—meaning Jerusalem—which would imply that they were to make a trip back to Jerusalem).

Third, there is no need to choose between having the disciples both visit Galilee and Jerusalem during this period. Indeed, this is the tradition represented by John. In John, Jesus appears to the disciples both in Jerusalem (John 20:19-23) and in Galilee (John 21:1-25). The same thing seems to happen in longer Mark, where a visit to Galilee is implied in the original ending (Mark 16:7) and Jesus also appears, apparently, in Jerusalem (Mark 16:12-14).

On this view, Matthew would have chosen to omit the Jerusalem traditions because of the way he wanted to end his Gospel, with the appearance on a mountain in Galilee.

By contrast, Luke would have chosen to omit the Galilee traditions because of the way he wanted to end his Gospel and begin Acts, with the Ascension, which occurred in the Jerusalem area (Luke 24:50-52, Acts 1:4, 8-12).

It may be noted that Luke used Mark and, even if he had access only to the shorter version of Mark, he thus would have been exposed to the tradition that Jesus appeared to the disciples in Galilee after his resurrection. Since Luke does not preserve this tradition, we may infer that he chose not to use it because of the way he wanted to end his Gospel and begin Acts.

Indeed, since Luke tells us that Jesus appeared to the disciples multiple times during a period of forty days (Acts 1:3), it is likely Jesus spent much of this time preparing them for their upcoming mission by giving them evangelistic instructions, and—in keeping with the traditions preserved in the four Gospels and Acts—some of these instructions were given in Galilee and some in the Jerusalem area.

Luke also says that Jesus “presented himself alive after his passion by many proofs” to the disciples, which may be a deliberate gesture to traditions preserved in the other Gospels and in 1 Corinthians, even if they are not found in Luke/Acts. In view of this statement, we should thus seek to read Luke/Acts in harmony with the other materials.

Given the fact that Jesus likely gave evangelistic instructions on multiple occasions in this period, we should not too closely tie particular remarks with particular locations. He likely reiterated the same things on multiple occasions, and the eyewitnesses were not interested with noting precisely which things he said in precisely which locations. It would be overtaxing the Gospel narratives to expect that kind of precision, just as it would be to expect most of Jesus’ parables to have been said in particular locations on particular occasions, rather than simply being things that Jesus said which the Evangelists needed to put in appropriate places in order to record them.

Finally, we may note that Paul records that Jesus appeared to “all the apostles” after he appeared to James (1 Cor. 15:7b). This is an interesting statement, since he recorded an earlier post-resurrection appearance to “the twelve” (1 Cor. 15:5b).

It is presumably to be explained by the fact that not all of the apostles were members of the twelve. Barnabas and Paul, for example, were not (Acts 14:14). While Paul separates out the appearance Jesus made to him as a separate encounter (1 Cor. 15:8), which occurred after the Ascension (Acts 9:3-7), it is possible that Jesus made a collective appearance to the twelve and others who counted as apostles, such as Barnabas. If so, this presumably would have happened before the Ascension, and so we place the event here, in the same forty days that Jesus gave evangelistic instructions to his core disciples.

On the other hand, Paul (and the creed he is thought to be quoting) may not intend a single appearance to “all the apostles.” The thought may be that Jesus appeared to all the apostles in one way or another, at one time or another, in which case a single event is not in view.

 

16) The Ascension (Mark 16:19-20, Luke 24:50-53, Acts 1:3-11)

The post-resurrection narratives come to a conclusion with the Ascension, which is recorded in Luke, Acts, and the longer ending of Mark.

In Luke, this event occurs when Jesus has led the disciples “as far as Bethany” (Luke 24:50), while in Acts Luke says that they afterward returned “from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a Sabbath day’s journey away” (Acts 1:12). This is not a contradiction, because Bethany was located near the east foot of the Mount of Olives.

In the longer ending of Mark, no location for the event is stated. It is simply presented as occurring after Jesus gives his final evangelistic instructions. The author therefore does not assert any particular location for it.

 

Gospel Sequencing

One thing that may not be obvious from a quick reading of the preceding commentary is the way in which the material from the different sources—Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts, and 1 Corinthians—fits together.

While individual sources may omit particular traditions, they almost never resequence them. The material they present dovetails together in such a way that, with a few very small exceptions, all of the material fits together in sequence.

Examine the verse numbers in the section headings above, and you will see how they proceed forward through each Gospel.

Acts, having only one element in the above treatment—the Ascension—can’t help but fit this pattern, but the material from 1 Corinthians does also.

The fact that the pattern holds for each of the other sources is very remarkable, and it reveals that they are each describing the same chronological sequence of events, with only minor variations.

The variations are as follows:

  1. Matthew 28:2 appears to relate the descent of the angel later than it happened chronologically, to make the it clear to the reader who rolled the stone away.
  2. Matthew 28:8-9 seems to suggest that the women left the tomb and then encountered Jesus, while John 20:14-18 seems to suggest that the women encountered Jesus at the tomb and then left it. Both are possible if the group split (i.e., most of the women left while Mary remained at the tomb), but it seems more likely that John’s account reflects the strict chronology of what happened.
  3. Luke 24:12 records Peter’s visit to the tomb. For reasons explained above, we have grouped this verse with John’s account of the visit, which is the one more likely to be presented in the chronologically exact order.
  4. Luke 24:41-43 may record the tradition of Jesus eating fish out of its chronological sequence, which is preserved in John 21:9-15. However, this is uncertain, since Jesus may have eaten fish in the disciples’ presence more than once (it was a very common dish, especially for fishermen), and John 21 does not explicitly say that Jesus ate fish on that occasion, though it seems to be implied by their common breakfasting on fish.

(Luke’s reference to Jesus’ appearance to Peter, preserved in Luke 24:34, might seem to be an exception, but it is not, because it is described within the narrative as having already happened, making it a kind of flashback, and thus an event Luke knowingly presents out of sequence.)

The fact that the material from the resurrection narratives so easily fits together, with only a tiny number of minor details seeming to be resequenced, is a startling and unexpected testimony to the fundamental harmony of these accounts.

 

Proposed Chronology

Based on the above, I would propose the following chronology for the overall sequence of events:

  • (Good Friday) A guard is set over the tomb (Matt. 27:62-66)
  • (Between Saturday night and Sunday morning) Jesus is resurrected and leaves the tomb
  • (Easter Sunday morning) An angel descends and rolls away the stone to allow the women access (Matt. 28:2-3)
  • The guards faint (Matt. 28:4)
  • The women leave for the tomb (Matt. 28:1, Mark 16:1-2, Luke 24:1, John 20:1a)
  • They find the tomb open (Mark 16:3-4, Luke 24:2, John 20:1b)
  • The women—or at least Mary Magdalene—run and tell Simon Peter, who then visits the tomb, sees that it is empty, and returns home (Luke 24:12, John 20:2-20)
  • The women, including Mary Magdalene, remain at the tomb. Upon entering it, they encounter angels, who speak to them (Matt. 24:5-7, Mark 16:5-7, Luke 24:3-8, John 20:11-13)
  • Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene and the other women (Matt. 28:9-10, Mark 16:9, John 20:14-17)
  • The women leave to inform the disciples what has happened (Matt. 28:8, Mark 16:8, Luke 24:9a)
  • Some of the guard leaves to inform the authorities what has happened (Matt. 28:11-15)
  • The women tell the disciples what has happened (Mark 16:10-11, Luke 24:9b-11, John 20:18)
  • Jesus appears to Peter (Luke 24:34, 1 Cor. 15:5a)
  • Jesus appears to the disciples on the road to Emmaus (Mark 16:12-13, Luke 24:13-35)
  • (Easter Sunday night) Jesus appears to the core disciples but without Thomas (Mark 16:14, Luke 24:36-43, John 20:19-23, 1 Cor. 15:5b)
  • (The next Sunday) Jesus appears to the disciples with Thomas present (John 20:24-31)
  • (Also between Easter and Ascension Thursday) The encounter at the Sea of Galilee (John 21:1-25)
  • The appearance to five hundred brethren (1 Cor. 15:6)
  • The appearance to James (1 Cor. 5:17a)
  • Jesus gives evangelistic instructions to the disciples (Matt. 28:16-20, Mark 16:15-18, Luke 24:44-49, Acts 1:3-5, 1 Cor. 15:7b)
  • (Ascension Thursday) Jesus ascends into heaven (Mark 16:19-20, Luke 24:50-53, Acts 1:6-11)

Is Mark a Transcript of Peter’s Lectures on Matthew and Luke?

peter-preachingThe Orchard hypothesis, which holds that Mark is a transcript of lectures that Peter gave on Matthew and Luke, is a unique solution to the Synoptic Problem.

It was proposed in the late 20th century by the British scholar Dom Bernard Orchard, along with other authors, including Harold Riley, David Alan Black, and Dennis Barton.

It can be seen as a variation of the Griesbach hypothesis (according to which Mark composed his Gospel from Matthew and Luke), but it is different enough that it deserves its own treatment.

The view is not common. In fact, it is quite uncommon, but this should not be held against it. The question is not how popular it is but how well the evidence supports it.

 

Resources on This View

The following resources describe and advocate this view:

Dennis Barton’s web site—ChurchInHistory.org—contains additional materials on the view, including pieces written by Orchard.

I want to personally thank Barton, who provided very kind assistance as I was researching this view.

In what follows, we will principally deal with Orchard and Riley’s book, which is the longest sustained treatment of the position in print.

 

Stating the View

The basic proposal of the Orchard hypothesis runs along the following lines (page numbers refer to The Order of the Synoptics):

  1. Matthew wrote his Gospel first, to meet the needs of Jewish Christians (cf. pp. 239-245).
  2. Luke wrote his Gospel second, based in part on Matthew, to meet the needs of Gentile Christians (cf. pp. 248-250).
  3. Luke did not publish his Gospel until after Peter had vouched for its accuracy at Rome (cf. pp. 260-262).
  4. When Luke’s Gospel was brought to him, Peter gave a series of lectures based on Matthew and Luke (cf. pp. 269-272).
  5. Mark had these lectures transcribed (cf. pp. 269, 273).
  6. Some Roman Christians demanded copies of the transcripts immediately (cf. p. 274). This amounted to a private publication of Mark’s Gospel, with its original, shorter ending, finishing at Mark 16:8 (cf. p. 272).
  7. Luke then published his Gospel, its accuracy having been attested by Peter’s lectures (cf. p. 209).
  8. Later, Mark supplemented his Gospel by providing it with its current, longer ending (i.e., Mark 16:9-20) and published a second edition (cf. pp. 264-265 n. 4, 274).

 

An Oral vs. Literary Relationship

This view differs from the standard Griesbach hypothesis in that it does not envision Mark being the one to select and combine material from Matthew and Luke. Instead, it envisions Peter playing this role. Mark simply made a transcript of Peter’s oral presentation of this material.

The link between Mark and the other two Synoptics is thus oral rather than literary. This has the potential to avoid the problem (discussed in my piece on the Griesbach hypothesis) of why Mark tends to use more words to describe the same events as Matthew and Luke and why he often combines individual words and phrases from both of them.

If Mark were abridging Matthew and Luke with copies of them in front of him then, like other ancient epitomists, he would be expected to use fewer words—not more—and he would not freely combine wording from the two but would model his wording after one Gospel or the other.

However, if Peter were lecturing from Matthew and Luke, one might suppose that he would have a larger number of words in recounting particular events, and he might more freely mix words and phrases from the two Gospels, based on his memory of what one said when he had the other in front of him.

The fact that the Orchard hypothesis proposes an oral rather than a literary use of Matthew and Luke thus potentially gets around a serious objection to the Griesbach hypothesis, which is one reason it is worthy of independent consideration (for more, see “The Composition of Mark,” below).

 

Order of Publication and Order of Composition

Another interesting aspect of the hypothesis is that it can be looked at as a combination of the Griesbach hypothesis and the Augustinian hypothesis.

According to the former, the Synoptic Gospels were composed in the order Matthew, Luke, Mark—which is what the Orchard hypothesis proposes.

However, the Orchard hypothesis also proposes that they were published in the order Matthew, Mark (1st edition), Luke—which is the same order proposed by the Augustinian hypothesis.

Normally, the order of composition and the order of publication are not distinguished (it being assumed that they were published immediately upon being composed), but if this distinction is made then it is possible to harmonize the two.

Advocates of the Orchard hypothesis thus might claim the support of patristic texts favoring both the Augustinian and the Griesbach hypotheses.

(Although Orchard appears to propose the idea that Mark’s first, private edition was released before Luke was published, he is not emphatic on this, and it is not an essential element of the proposal. The key is the idea that Mark is based on transcripts of Peter’s lectures, not the specific order of publication. One thus might reject the proposed harmonization of the two sequences without rejecting Orchard’s central hypothesis.)

 

Two More Advantages?

In The Order of the Synoptics, Orchard suggests two more advantages of his proposal over the Griesbach hypothesis (p. 275).

The first is that it provides a rationale for why there are three Synoptic Gospels: Matthew wrote for Jews, Luke wrote for Gentiles, and Mark was a product of Peter’s validation of Luke vis-à-vis Matthew.

The second is that his account of Peter’s lectures provides an explanation for why the sequence of material in Mark seems to zig-zag between the sequences used for the same material by Matthew and Luke.

To evaluate the Orchard hypothesis, we will look at the four potential advantages just named and then at the individual points of the hypothesis (the claims numbered 1-8, above).

 

An Oral Advantage?

The fact that Mark typically uses more words to recount the same events that Matthew and Luke cover and the fact that he often fuses the language of the two are both serious problems for the Griesbach hypothesis in its classical form. If Mark had Matthew and Luke in front of him, we simply would not expect to see either of these phenomena on a regular basis, but we do.

If, however, Mark is largely a transcript of Peter’s speeches based on the other two Gospels then this objection is blunted. A speaker might well use more words than a prepared text if he were speaking naturally and occasionally glancing down at the text in front of him.

Similarly, if he knew one of the texts well (and the Orchard hypothesis holds that Peter would have known Matthew’s Gospel for years) then he might well mingle snippets from that text in his oral presentation, even when that text was not in front of him.

Is there a way to test this as it applies to the Orchard hypothesis?

Perhaps. Orchard, et al., propose that at certain identifiable points in his lectures, Peter had Luke’s text in front of him, while on other occasions he had Matthew’s. It thus should be possible to compare these portions and see what kind of intermingling is being done.

If Peter knew Matthew’s Gospel well but had only recently been presented with Luke’s then we would expect a more substantial introduction of Matthean phrasing when he had Luke in front of him and a less substantial introduction of Lukan phrasing when he had Matthew in front of him.

I don’t know of anyone who has conducted an evaluation of Mark with this in mind. Until such time as this test is done, there is no way of knowing whether it would tend to confirm or disconfirm the hypothesis.

Another potential way of testing the hypothesis would involve the number of words used to tell particular stories. While it is true that a speaker, especially an eyewitness like Peter, might expand on the text in front of him, there is the question of whether we would expect this degree of expansion.

One might argue that we should expect even more expansion than what we do see. Unless an eyewitness is (for some reason) following the text in front of him very closely, we might expect him to add many more details than what Mark’s Gospel does.

Unless Peter spent an unexpectedly large proportion of his time looking down at the scrolls of Matthew and Luke and reading them almost word-for-word, we might expect him to elaborate even more—or at least to vary his wording from them more than we see him do.

On the other hand, if he wasn’t looking down constantly during the recounting of a particular incident, we might expect him to summarize it even more briefly than what we see in Mark.

Because of these variables, the construction of an objective test along these lines would be difficult, though it might still be possible.

Regardless of how these tests might turn out, we can say this: Any advantage that the Orchard hypothesis might have over the Griesbach hypothesis is a relative one. At most, it would establish that the Orchard hypothesis is relatively more likely than the Griesbach hypothesis. It would not establish that it is likely in absolute terms.

Put another way: The oral link to Matthew and Luke posited by Orchard could diminish or remove the force of objections to Griesbach, but it would not provide a positive reason to believe the Orchard hypothesis.

 

A Harmonizing Advantage?

The fact the Orchard hypothesis allows a possible way to harmonize the Augustinian hypothesis and the Griesbach hypothesis by distinguishing between the Gospels’ order of composition and their order of publication at first seems intriguing.

Wouldn’t it be great to be able to appeal for support to both patristic sources supporting the former and the latter? That seems like it would be a net advantage for the hypothesis. But a closer look is less promising.

For advocates of Orchard to claim the patristic texts supporting the Augustinian sequence (Matthew, Mark, Luke) and the Griesbach sequence (Matthew, Luke, Mark) as evidence for their view, there would have to be a causal connection between the way in which the Gospels were composed and published and what is found in the Church Fathers.

In other words: Memory of the fact that Mark was given a private publication before Luke had to be preserved and this memory would have to give rise to the Augustinian hypothesis tradition and memory of the fact that Luke was written before Mark had to be preserved and this memory would have to give rise to the Griesbach hypothesis tradition.

How likely is this?

There are problems on multiple fronts. First, it is not particularly likely that the memory of a quick, private publication of Mark before Luke would have survived and given rise to the dominant patristic view regarding the order of the Synoptics.

If anything, the fact that the composition of Mark was a byproduct of the validation of Luke would have been what stuck in people’s memories, which would have reinforced awareness that Luke had been written first.

The fact that Mark had a few quick copies made of lecture transcripts and then distributed them privately would not have been as significant an event in the life of the Church has the long-awaited publication of the “Gospel for the gentiles.”

The publication of Mark would have been too insignificant by comparison, and too reinforcing of the fact that Luke was written first, for it to be responsible for the tendency of later writers to suppose that Mark wrote before Luke did.

If anything, we would expect it to reinforce a patristic tradition that the Gospels were written in the order proposed by Griesbach, not Augustine.

This leads to a second problem, which is that there is little patristic support for the Griesbach order. As we will see below, there is at most a single quotation from Clement of Alexandria that seems to suggest this, and it may well involve a mistranslation.

Furthermore, the later writers seem to have thought that Mark wrote before Luke, not just that he published (however briefly or privately) before Luke. This means that they would have had to have remembered but misunderstood the way in which Mark came to be. They would have had to have forgotten what motivated the composition of Mark but remembered that it was released to a few individuals slightly before the much more popular Gospel of Luke and then confused the order of publication with the order of composition.

Such a sequence of events is sufficiently implausible that it does not allow the Orchard hypothesis to claim substantial support from Fathers who advocate the Augustinian view.

The most that can be said is that the Orchard hypothesis would, again, enjoy a slight relative advantage over other forms of the Griesbach hypothesis.

However, as we noted, the idea that the Gospels were published in the Augustinian sequence is a secondary aspect of the Orchard hypothesis, not one of its central features, and so one could set this matter aside.

 

Why Three Synoptics?

Orchard proposed that one advantage of his hypothesis is that it provides a credible rationale for why there are three Synoptic Gospels.

It certainly provides a rationale, but this is of limited value because it is quite speculative and substantially coincides with rival views.

The parts of the rationale that are the firmest—that Matthew wrote more for Jews than Gentiles and that Luke did the reverse—are agreed upon by all, and they are not unique to the Orchard hypothesis.

There is also a danger of overstating the ethnic orientations of these two Gospels. All four Gospels—including Matthew—display significant interest in Gentiles, and Luke contains a significant amount of material that is distinctly Jewish in orientation (e.g., in his Infancy Narrative).

(Indeed, the fact Matthew displays significant interest in Gentiles suggests that it was written after the conversion of a significant number of Gentiles began, which would place it after the A.D. 30-44 period that Orchard proposes for its composition. This dating, however, is another secondary aspect of the hypothesis, not an essential feature.)

The unique contribution that the Orchard hypothesis could make to an understanding of why there are three Synoptics concerns the way Mark came to be.

The idea that Mark is a transcript of lectures that Peter gave to validate Luke relative to Matthew certainly is a rationale for why Mark was written, and in general views that can provide rationales are to be preferred to those that do not, but one has to ask whether the rationale that is provided is the most plausible one available.

As we will see, the rationale provided by Orchard is speculative and not well-supported by either patristic or internal evidence. Further, there are other potential explanations for why there are three Synoptics (e.g., Mark wrote first but was deemed too short and incomplete, so Matthew expanded it to create a longer version with a Jewish orientation and Luke did the same for a Gentile audience).

The fact that the Orchard hypothesis provides a rationale for the composition of three Synoptics thus does not provide significant evidence that it is true.

 

A Zig-Zag Advantage?

The second advantage that Orchard proposed was that his suggestion provides an explanation for the way Mark’s sequencing of material seems to zig-zag between Matthew’s sequence and Luke’s sequence.

Again, Orchard is correct in that he does provide an explanation for this phenomenon. The Order of the Synoptics describes how Peter would have proceeded to mark up copies of Matthew and Luke to indicate which sections of them he wanted to use so that assistants could roll through them to these points and then hand the scrolls to him while he gave his lectures (pp. 266-272).

However, there is nothing about this that requires a scenario involving lectures rather than a written composition. Mark—or anybody else—could have similarly marked up copies of Matthew and Luke, noting the sections to be used, and then rolled through them in the process of composing a written version of Mark.

Or Matthew could have marked up copies of Mark and Luke, or Luke could have marked up copies of Matthew and Mark.

The fact that the Orchard hypothesis provides an explanation for the zig-zag is thus not of much advantage. There are alternative explanations that work just as well. The zig-zag does not provide evidence that Mark is a transcript of lectures by Peter. This would have to be supported on other grounds.

We now come to the point in our evaluation where we need to look at the plausibility of the individual components of the Orchard hypothesis (numbered 1-8, above).

 

The Composition of Matthew

Claim #1: Matthew wrote his Gospel first, to meet the needs of Jewish Christians.

We have already noted that Matthew’s Gospel has a Jewish character, though it also shows interest in Gentiles. This is not in dispute. The question is whether he wrote first. Orchard and his co-author Riley attempt to provide both internal and external evidence for this.

The internal evidence they offer is an attack on Markan priority (Lukan priority is assumed to be false, so a rejection of Markan priority would entail Matthean priority). The core of the argument is offered on The Order of the Synoptics, 4-7, where Riley presents a table of the material in Mark with parallel columns showing when that material was used by Matthew or Luke in the same sequence as Mark (relocations of material are not shown on this table).

(Click here to see the table.)

Riley then argues:

[A]t every point where Matthew ceases to follow Mark’s order, whether for a short or longer period, Luke continues in it; and wherever Luke ceases to follow Mark’s order, Matthew in his turn continues in it. There is surely an inescapable conclusion to be drawn from this. If Matthew and Luke were dependent on Mark for the order of events, they must have agreed together that they would do this. Without constant collaboration, the result would be quite impossible. That they followed such a course is incredible, and therefore the conclusion cannot be avoided that the hypothesis that they were dependent on Mark cannot be sustained (p. 7).

This argument does not work. The collusion that Riley argues would have to have existed between Matthew and Luke is an illusion based on the way he has constructed the table.

Since the table lists all of the material of Mark in its middle column, that column is guaranteed to be filled. A particular block of Markan material will then have a parallel in the Matthew (left) column if Matthew chose to parallel that block and if Matthew presented it in the same order. In the same way, a particular block of Markan material will have a parallel in the Luke (right) column if Luke chose to parallel that block and he presented it in the same order.

This means that there are four things we could see on any given row of the table:

  1. An entry in all three columns, where all three Evangelists used the material and in the same order.
  2. Entries in the Matthew and Mark columns but a blank space in the Luke one, where Luke didn’t use the material or did not use it in the same order.
  3. Entries in the Mark and Luke columns but a blank space in the Matthew one, where Matthew didn’t use the material or did not use it in the same order.
  4. An entry in the Mark column only, where Matthew and Luke either did not use the material or did not use it in the same order as Mark.

All four phenomena are found in the table, and they are consistent with the idea that Matthew and Luke used Mark:

  • The most common type of row is the first, which means that on Markan priority, Matthew and Luke would have both made a large number of selections from Mark in which they preserved his sequence.
  • The second type of row is the next most common, which is consistent with Matthew having a stronger preference than Luke for including material from Mark and using its sequence.
  • The third is next most common. It is consistent with Luke having a weaker preference than Matthew for including material from Mark and using its sequence.
  • The fourth is the least common. Its low frequency is consistent with the idea that Matthew and Luke had a strong enough preference for using material from Mark, and Mark’s sequence, that this type of row is rare.

We have no need to suppose collusion between Matthew and Luke to produce the patterns we see. Since the table excludes material that Matthew and Luke might have taken from Mark but relocated, we are certain to have one of the above four phenomena on any given row of the table.

Setting aside the first type of row (where both Matthew and Luke followed Mark) and the fourth (where neither did so), we are guaranteed to have either the second or third. Whenever Luke departs from Mark, we will have the second, and whenever Matthew departs, we will have the third. The alternating pattern that Riley observes is thus a product of the way the table itself has been set up.

You could generate exactly the same kind of pattern by taking a table with all the columns filled in and then rolling a die to randomly blank out cells from the first and third columns (say, blanking a cell every time you roll a 6 for the first column and every time you roll a 5 or 6 for the third column, since Matthew more closely follows Mark than Luke).

There is thus no need to posit collusion between Matthew and Luke to explain the table if Markan priority is true. As long as Matthew and Luke sometimes deviated from Mark, the construction of the table guarantees the pattern that Riley observes.

Riley’s attempt to support Matthean priority by attacking Markan priority thus fails.

What of the external evidence? This is dealt with by Orchard in Part Two of their book.

It is true that by the late second century we have endorsements of Matthean priority and that this view is later dominant. All things being equal, this would be the preferred view.

But not all is equal. In particular, the earliest patristic statement we have on the origins of the Gospels dates to the first-century figure John the Presbyter. Its straightforward interpretation (see below) indicates that Mark was written first.

In view of the fact John the Presbyter likely was one of the authors of the New Testament (whether or not he is identified with John son of Zebedee), this is an extraordinarily important testimony. Coming from the same circle of authors that wrote the New Testament, it has more intrinsic weight than later statements, however popular they came to be (a phenomenon likely driven by the popularity of Matthew’s Gospel rather than its historical sequence).

Orchard and Riley thus do not produce compelling evidence for Matthean priority. The initial point of the Orchard hypothesis thus looks shaky.

 

The Composition of Luke

Claim #2: Luke wrote his Gospel second, based in part on Matthew, to meet the needs of Gentile Christians.

Again, there is little dispute that Luke’s Gospel has a special concern for Gentiles, and it is generally thought that it was written for a primarily Gentile audience. The questions would be whether Luke wrote second and whether he based his Gospel on Matthew.

The claim Luke wrote second could be inferred from Matthean priority and the view that Mark is a transcript of Peter’s lectures from Matthew and Luke. If those premises are true then Luke had to come second.

If, however, either or both premises are shaky then this inference does not work. We have already suggested that Matthean priority is shaky, and below we will cast doubt on the idea that Mark is a transcript.

It would still be possible to provide support for this view, though. For example, there is the statement attributed to Clement of Alexandria that the Gospels with the genealogies (Matthew and Luke) were “written first” (Greek, progegraphthai; the statement is preserved in Eusebius, Church History, 6:14:6-7).

If that view is true then, unless one advocates Lukan priority, one could infer that Luke wrote second.

However, Stephen Carlson argues that the key Greek verb (progegraphthai) should be rendered “published openly” rather than “written first.” On this view, Clement was claiming that Matthew and Luke were published openly, while Mark was initially written for a group of private individuals, without Peter’s initial knowledge or authorization. (See Carlson’s argument, here.)

The statement of Clement thus may not provide support for the idea that Luke wrote second.

What about the view that Luke used Matthew? This has been advocated by a number of scholars, including advocates of the Farrer hypothesis (a fact Orchard notes; see p. 236). However, the reverse—that Matthew used Luke—has also been maintained by advocates of the Wilke hypothesis, and most contemporary scholars think that Matthew and Luke wrote independently of each other, so there is no scholarly consensus in favor of Luke using Matthew.

To maintain that this happened, one would need to produce positive arguments in favor of the view. If one accepts Matthean priority then, given the similarities of the Synoptic Gospels, the idea that Luke used Matthew naturally results. But if Matthean priority is shaky then, without further argumentation, the idea that Luke used him is shaky as well.

The second point of the Orchard hypothesis is thus not established.

 

Claim #3: Luke did not publish his Gospel until after Peter had vouched for its accuracy at Rome.

Orchard provides a speculative account of why he thinks this happened. He proposes that Paul recognized that, given its Gentile orientation, Luke’s Gospel would not be well received by non-Pauline churches unless it were vouched for by an authoritative, original apostle, such as Peter. He thus thinks Paul had a role in delaying the publication of Luke’s Gospel until Peter could approve it.

This is possible, though it is quite speculative. Despite this, Peter may well have approved Luke’s Gospel prior to its public distribution.

The reason is that Acts suddenly stops its narrative when Paul is under house arrest for two years in Rome, awaiting trial before Nero. The logical explanation for this is that this is when and where Acts was written. Since Acts is the sequel to Luke’s Gospel, and since both are addressed to the same individual (Theophilus; Luke 1:3, Acts 1:1), it is likely that Luke also wrote his Gospel at Rome during the same two years.

Early Christian authors indicate that Peter ministered at Rome for an extended period of time and that Paul and Peter were martyred there at approximately the same time. It is thus quite possible that Peter was at Rome when Luke-Acts was being written.

This seems confirmed by the way Peter dominates the early chapters of Acts. If Luke had stopped writing with chapter 12, the book could have been titled “The Acts of Peter.”

There is also a marked difference in the sources that Luke had available to him for the first half of the book. This is shown by comparing the general description of travels in the first half with the detailed descriptions of how long and by what routes Paul travelled in the second.

Given the shift in Luke’s sources and the prominence of Peter early in Acts, it is very likely that Peter himself was one of Luke’s sources when he was writing Acts. If so, then it is also likely that Peter was one of Luke’s sources for writing his Gospels and that Peter stands behind some of the material found in Luke but not in Mark.

Peter’s participation in Luke and Acts could itself be construed as evidence of his approval of them. Even apart from this, if Luke’s Gospel was published at Rome then it would be inevitable that people would ask Peter’s opinion of it—and that it would have been dealt a severe blow if Peter disowned it.

It is therefore probable that Peter gave Luke’s Gospel some form of approval, either before or shortly after its publication in Rome. The third point of the Orchard hypothesis therefore looks very reasonable, though perhaps not for the reasons that Orchard himself proposed.

 

The Composition of Mark

We now come to the core of the Orchard hypothesis and what sets it apart from the Griesbach hypothesis.

At this point we should note the implications of the fact that the Orchard hypothesis is different from the Griesbach hypothesis. The latter proposes that Mark is based on a written conflation of Matthew and Luke, while the latter proposes it is based on an oral conflation of them.

That is important.

It means that some of the arguments used with respect to the Griesbach hypothesis do not work—or work as well—when applied to the Orchard hypothesis.

For example, it has been argued that it is very implausible that an ancient author would stitch together two passages in Matthew and Luke on a phrase-by-phrase basis. That kind of thing is possible with word processors, but the ancient world lacked even writing desks. It would be far more likely for Mark to base his version of a passage on either Matthew or Luke, perhaps including a word or phrase from the other, but not alternating between them frequently.

As discussed above, this argument is less acute if we suppose Peter was familiar with both Matthew and Luke and was mentally combining them on the fly as he delivered lectures, looking down for reference at the text of one or the other Gospel in front of him.

Similarly, given the length of Matthew and Luke, Mark makes little sense as an epitome. In the ancient world, epitomes were produced for long, multi-volume works, but Matthew and Luke are both one scroll long, and Mark is not that much shorter than either.

Also, if Peter were giving lectures, he might skip some material in the sources in front of him that he originally meant to cover (a phenomenon known to almost all givers of speeches), accounting for at least some of the omissions of important material we would not expect an author to omit if he were carefully selecting which bits of Matthew and Luke to incorporate in his new, written work.

This is not to say that the arguments commonly used with respect to the Griesbach hypothesis have no value with respect to the Orchard hypothesis. They may have some force—or be reconfigurable in a way that has force—but it is important to give the Orchard hypothesis its due and not simply dismiss it as if everything that applied to the Griesbach hypothesis applied to it.

 

Claim #4: When Luke’s Gospel was brought to him, Peter gave a series of lectures based on Matthew and Luke.

There is absolutely no external testimony to this, which means in the first place that we have introduced a new speculative element into the mix.

How likely is it?

As an eyewitness of Jesus’ ministry, Peter almost certainly preached from his memories on the large majority of the occasions when he discussed the events in question. He would have had no need to preach from written texts.

Having said that, it is possible that he could have given a series of lectures from Luke if, as we have argued, Luke was available to him at Rome. It is also possible that he could have preached a series from Matthew if this Gospel were also available to him. However, these are possibilities and not probabilities.

The Orchard hypothesis goes a step further by proposing that during a single series of lectures Peter alternated between Matthew and Luke and that he alternated between the two during the course of the individual lectures. That is, in a single session, he alternated between reading from a scroll of Matthew and a scroll of Luke.

It is difficult to see why an eyewitness of Jesus’ ministry would choose to do this.

The choice would only be rational if Peter had some very specific reason to do so, and Orchard proposes one: that Peter was intending to vindicate Luke vis-à-vis Matthew.

If that’s what he was doing, however, we would expect to see evidence of it in the written record of these lectures (i.e., Mark). For example, we would expect comments like, “Although Luke places this account in a different location than Matthew, it is still fundamentally accurate,” or “Matthew is placing this story here in order to make a particular point, but Luke’s placement is chronological.”

Comments of this nature are natural in any talk on how to harmonize the Gospels, yet there are no comments of this sort in Mark.

If Peter’s lectures were meant to be a vindication of Luke—whether by harmonization or in some more general sense—then it is striking that there are no references to the texts upon which Peter is lecturing in the written record.

This is very implausible. Any speaker attempting to vindicate one source with respect to an already established source is certain to make reference to the two sources he is discussing, and yet Mark makes no mention of either source!

The proposal that Peter was lecturing to vindicate Luke thus is not established and we revert to the antecedent probability that it is very unlikely that an eyewitness like Peter would choose to do a series of lectures in which he read alternatingly between Matthew and Luke in the course of individual talks.

 

Claim #5: Mark had these lectures transcribed.

How likely is this?

The antecedent likelihood is not great. For a start, the number of people who were trained in stenography and thus capable of taking dictation was very small.

The Christian community in Rome c. A.D. 60 was also small, likely including only a few dozen members and no more than one or two hundred at the very most.

In Romans 16:3-15, Paul greets twenty-four individual Christians and five groups (e.g., the church that meets in Aquila and Priscilla’s house, “those who belong to the family of Aristobulus,” “those who belong to the family of Narcissus”). It is unlikely that Paul knew all of these Roman Christians personally since most people did not travel and Paul had not yet visited Rome. Yet it is likely that he is trying to be as complete as possible in his greetings, given the sensitivity of the letter. He most likely relied on Tertius (Rom. 16:22), who was probably a visiting Christian scribe from Rome, to flesh out his knowledge of the Roman churches. Romans 16 thus may represent a near-complete representation of the size of the Christian community at Rome at this time, in which case it would be only a few dozen individuals.

Given that, it is likely that none of the Christians at Rome were able to write in shorthand. Tertius was able to write and serve as a scribe, but that is not the same thing as being able to take dictation at the speed a public lecture is given. For that, training in special, stenographic signs is needed.

There were people in Rome trained in shorthand, but they were probably not Christians, and they would have needed to be hired to serve as stenographers for a dodgy group like the Christians.

It is very questionable whether a non-Christian scribe would be willing to take a dictation assignment from such an iffy group as the Christians, who were advocating a king rival to Caesar (Matt. 27:37, Mark 15:26, Luke 23:38, John 19:12, 19-20) in Rome itself!

Even if a scribe trained in stenography (Christian or not) was available and willing to take the job, it would have cost money to hire him, and it would have cost a great deal.

Even after the cost of the initial shorthand transcription was paid, the scribe would then need to prepare a version in readable Greek. If such a Greek version were not made then the only people who could read it would be those trained in the same system of stenographic signs as the transcriptionist.

Based on E. Randolph Richards estimates for the cost of producing Paul’s letters (see Paul and First-Century Letter Writing, 169) and scaling the numbers up for a work the size of Mark’s Gospel, it would have cost the ancient equivalent of approximately $1,400 just to have a single copy of the resulting work made in Greek.

In view of all this, there would have needed to be a powerful reason to have a particular set of Peter’s talks transcribed, if a transcriptionist were even available.

After all, people in Rome had the opportunity to hear Peter preach all the time. Mark, in particular, had the opportunity to hear him preach on a regular basis. As his interpreter, Mark likely heard Peter preach so much that he could reconstruct large amounts of this material by memory. Of all people, Mark had no need for a transcription of a set of Peter’s lectures.

So why transcribe this set of lectures?

Presumably, on the Orchard hypothesis, because it was expected to deliver something of special value, beyond what was found in Matthew and Luke—and sufficiently beyond that to justify the costs involved.

If that was the expectation, Peter spectacularly failed to deliver on it in his lectures.

First, Mark’s Gospel contains almost nothing that is not found in either Matthew or Luke, and what it does have is of low value (e.g., the parable of the growing seed, the mention of Jesus’ relatives responding to the claim that he was beside himself, the mention of the man who ran away naked) compared with the material it omits (the Lord’s Prayer, the Infancy Narratives, the Sermon on the Mount, the resurrection accounts).

Second, Peter’s proposed vindication of Luke vis-à-vis Matthew would have been done in such a way that he never even mentioned the two sources he had before him, much less did he provide commentary on their differences and how the two might be understood in light of each other.

Ultimately, Mark’s Gospel doesn’t contribute anything that Peter couldn’t have provided in just five words if asked about the merits of Matthew and Luke: “Yes, they are both good.”

Indeed, knowing the fantastic costs associated with transcription, it’s hard to imagine that Peter—knowing what he was planning to do in the proposed lectures—wouldn’t have simply told Mark to save the money and not burden the church’s treasury with a project of such de minimis value.

If Matthew and Luke already existed, paying such sums to transcribe the set of lectures Peter allegedly gave would have seemed frivolous and irresponsible.

(In fact, the costs associated with producing Mark—by whatever means—were such that it would make no sense to pay them if Matthew and Luke already existed. This is itself an argument for Markan priority. See here.)

The antecedent probability that Mark would have had the proposed lectures of Peter transcribed is thus very low.

But an event’s antecedent probability does not trump strong after-the-fact evidence that it occurred. So what posterior evidence is there?

Advocates of the Orchard hypothesis have appealed to elements of orality in Mark’s Gospel (i.e., traces that it is based on orally performed material rather than the material being composed exclusively in writing). They have also appealed to John the Presbyter’s statement that Mark’s Gospel was based on Peter’s preaching.

However, neither of these elements provides the support that is needed for this point.

In the first place, the oral elements in Mark’s Gospel are equally accounted for whether Mark was a transcript of Peter’s speeches or whether it was based on Mark’s memories of Peter’s sermons. Either way, it would be based on oral performance, and traces of that could (and did) remain in the final text.

In the second place, John the Presbyter does not say that Mark had Peter’s talks transcribed. What he says is:

Mark, having become the interpreter of Peter, wrote down accurately, though not in order, whatsoever he remembered of the things said or done by Christ. For he neither heard the Lord nor followed him, but afterward, as I said, he followed Peter, who adapted his teaching to the needs of his hearers, but with no intention of giving a connected account of the Lord’s discourses, so that Mark committed no error while he thus wrote some things as he remembered them. For he was careful of one thing, not to omit any of the things which he had heard, and not to state any of them falsely (Eusebius, Church History 3:39:15).

Not only does John the Presbyter stress that Mark’s Gospel is based on Mark’s memories (not a transcript), he also indicates that the speeches on which Mark is based were delivered with “no intention of giving a connected account of the Lord’s discourses” (Greek, logia, which may refer to stories about the Lord rather than sayings given by the Lord). Yet the speeches would have been a connected account of traditions concerning Jesus if Peter was giving a series of lectures harmonizing Matthew and Luke.

John the Presbyter’s statement that Mark’s Gospel is based on Mark’s memories of Peter’s preaching—not on Matthew and/or Luke—thus supports the idea that Mark was written first.

The earliest evidence we have, and from a likely New Testament author, is thus that Peter gave various, unconnected sermons about Jesus’ ministry at different times and, at a later date, Mark composed his Gospel based on his memories of them.

We thus do not have posterior evidence capable of overcoming the extremely low antecedent probability that the lectures would have been transcribed (if they even occurred).

 

Claim #6: Some Roman Christians demanded copies of the transcripts immediately; this amounted to a private publication of Mark’s Gospel with its original, shorter ending (when the women flee from the tomb).

It is difficult to imagine Peter giving a series of lectures on Matthew and Luke and then suddenly stopping when he got to the resurrection accounts. The narrative momentum of the story would make the lectures seem extraordinarily incomplete and unsatisfying if Peter suddenly stopped at that point, without recounting the joyous and climactic vindication of Jesus.

Further, the differences between how Luke records these compared to Matthew’s version would have been one of the things the Roman Christians would have been most interested in hearing about. If Peter was trying to vindicate Luke vis-à-vis Matthew then he should have talked about how their resurrection accounts should be understood in light of each other.

Nor can one appeal to the proposal (sometimes made by Orchard advocates) that Peter was only commenting on things from Matthew and Luke that he was an eyewitness of. That might explain why he didn’t cover the Infancy Narratives, but it would not explain why he didn’t include the resurrection appearances, for he was an eyewitness—as Luke’s Gospel explicitly states (Luke 24:34; cf. 24:12).

It is thus very hard to imagine Peter not covering the resurrection narratives in his lectures and thus that this is the explanation for Mark’s shorter ending.

However, we may set aside the question of whether the first publication of Mark’s Gospel included only the shorter ending found in early manuscripts. As noted above, this is not a key aspect of the Orchard hypothesis.

What is more important is the idea that Mark’s Gospel was originally published when Roman Christians demanded copies of the transcript of Peter’s lectures on Matthew and Luke.

How likely is that?

Even if we assume that such a set of lectures took place then the antecedent probability does not appear high.

After all, Matthew was already in circulation, and Luke existed. Mark adds nothing of substance to these two, and that correspondingly diminishes the desirability of having a transcript of the lectures (especially if you hear Peter preach all the time).

If obtaining a copy were as easy as hitting “Print” is today, then some might have wanted a copy for archival purposes, but this does not apply when a single copy in Greek costs the equivalent of $1,400!

It boggles the imagination to envision a group of Romans paying for the multiple copies of the transcript that would be needed for Mark to survive the ages when they could have gotten so much more for their money by having copies of Matthew and Luke made instead.

Indeed, Mark could even be open to charges of swindling people if he allowed them to use their money in this way rather than pointing out the advantages of getting copies of Matthew and Luke.

The survival of Mark is vastly more explicable if it was the first Gospel written and had established a reputation as a sacred and inspired document—and thus one worth copying—before Matthew and Luke appeared.

The antecedent probability that people would have demanded copies of the transcript, given the existence of Matthew and Luke, is thus low.

What about after-the-fact evidence?

According to Clement of Alexandria (c. A.D. 200):

The Gospels containing the genealogies . . . were written first (Greek, progegraphthai).

The Gospel according to Mark had this occasion: As Peter had preached the Word publicly at Rome, and declared the Gospel by the Spirit, many who were present requested that Mark, who had followed him for a long time and remembered his sayings, should write them out.

And having composed the Gospel he gave it to those who had requested it.

When Peter learned of this, he neither directly forbade nor encouraged it (Eusebius, Church History, 6:14:6-7).

Whether progegraphthai is taken to mean “written first” or, as has been discussed, “published openly,” the first part of the statement is consistent with the Orchard hypothesis, since it both holds that Matthew and Luke were written first and that Mark had an initially private publication for those who requested it.

Clement agrees that Mark was approached by Roman Christians who wanted a record of Peter’s preaching, but the account is not that given by the Orchard hypothesis.

Clement specifies that they made their request of Mark because he “had followed him [Peter] for a long time and remembered his sayings.”

As with the quotation from John the Presbyter, we again have Mark being based on the Evangelist’s memories of what Peter preached over “a long time” and not being a transcript of a specific set of lectures.

The quotation from Clement thus contradicts the Orchard hypothesis, and we do not have posterior evidence sufficient to overcome the low antecedent probability that people in Rome would have wanted and paid for transcripts of the lectures, given the existence of Matthew and Luke.

 

Later Publications

We now come to two lesser claims, neither of which is essential to the Orchard hypothesis.

 

Claim #7: After the publication of Mark, Luke published his Gospel, its accuracy having been attested by Peter’s lectures.

We agreed above (see Claim #3) that Peter likely approved Luke’s Gospel at Rome, though we also argued (see Claim #4) that it is unlikely he gave a set of lectures on Matthew and Luke of the kind proposed by the Orchard hypothesis.

Still, given the scenario proposed by Orchard advocates, what should we make of the claim that Luke would have been published after Mark’s initial, private publication?

This is possible, though it is a weakly-supported claim.

In terms of antecedent probability, we must confront the fact that Luke’s Gospel already existed. Multiple copies of it probably had been made before Peter’s lectures. At a minimum, Luke would have had a copy, Peter would have had a copy (that he then marked up according to a frequent proposal by Orchard advocates), Theophilus likely would have had a copy, and so would Paul. Given this, there easily could have been other copies in circulation.

Even supposing that there weren’t, Luke’s Gospel was ready to be duplicated by the scribes available to the Christian community in Rome. For Mark’s Gospel to come out first, the scribes would have had to be diverted from copying Luke next to making copies of Mark’s transcript (with no split among the scribes allowing some to copy Luke and some to copy Mark).

Given the probable low demand for copies of the latter (see Claim #6)—and the fact that Mark would need to be transcribed from shorthand symbols into Greek and then edited, whereas Luke was already in Greek and ready to go—this is unlikely.

In terms of posterior evidence, we have multiple early sources attesting to the Augustinian order of composition (Matthew, Mark, Luke) and only a possible attestation from Clement of Alexandria to the Griesbach order (Matthew, Luke, Mark). This is entirely too slender a basis on which to propose that the Griesbach order is that of composition and the Augustinian order is that of publication.

In the first place, the sources we have assume that the order of composition was the same as the order of publication. The texts that support the Augustinian hypothesis indicate that the Gospels weren’t just published in that order but that they were composed in it. They thus contradict the Orchard hypothesis.

In the second place, the gap between the original publication of Mark and that of Luke would have been so slight (a few days or weeks at most) that it is extremely unlikely that memory of the difference between the two sequences would have been preserved and given rise to the later traditions.

The Orchard hypothesis’s proposed explanation for harmonizing the Augustinian and Griesbach sequences is clever, but it is too clever by half.

 

Claim #8: Later, Mark supplemented his Gospel by providing it with its current, longer ending (i.e., Mark 16:9-20) and published a second edition.

This claim is highly speculative. It presupposes that Peter’s lecture series did not include coverage of the resurrection appearances, which is quite improbable (see Claim #5).

It would be more likely, if Peter preached such lectures, that he covered the Resurrection in some detail, that this was transcribed, and that the original ending of Mark was then lost and its deficit supplied at a later date by an unknown party.

This could have been anybody. It did not require special knowledge that was unique to Peter or Mark. Indeed, the longer ending of Mark appears to largely parallel material found in Matthew, Luke, John, and Acts.

The fact it is in a different style also points to a different author.

And we have no patristic testimony attributing the earlier, shorter version to Mark and then attributing the longer ending to him as well. There is thus no patristic evidence for this claim.

 

Conclusions

What we said above regarding the cleverness of Claim #7 applies to the Orchard hypothesis as a whole: It is a very clever proposal. But it is too clever by half.

Its advocates sometimes observe that it accounts for a large number of data points, including ones that other proposals must set aside.

This is true. Other proposals must set aside some data points and conclude they are simply in error. Thus:

  • Advocates of Markan priority and the Griesbach hypothesis must both set aside patristic testimony to the Augustinian hypothesis.
  • Advocates of the Augustinian hypothesis and the Griesbach hypothesis must set aside John the Presbyter’s statement regarding the composition of Mark.
  • Advocates of the Markan priority and the Augustinian hypothesis must set aside the “written first” interpretation of Clement of Alexandria.

By “set aside,” we do not mean that they must simply dismiss these data points. They can and should provide arguments for why particular patristic claims are not accurate.

But some selection among these claims is inevitable, because the data we have available to us is not uniform in what it says. It is messy, and scholars must weigh and select which bits of it they think are accurate and which are not.

The Orchard hypothesis is sometimes presented as if it gets around this problem by explaining all of the data, but this is inaccurate.

While the Orchard hypothesis gestures at each of the data points mentioned above, it does not succeed in incorporating them because it changes their meaning. Specifically:

  • It only harmonizes the Augustinian and Griesbach orders by interpreting one as the order of publication and the other as the order of composition, when this distinction is not made in the patristic sources.
  • It takes John the Presbyter’s statement pointing to Mark being a transcript of a specific set of Petrine lectures rather than the Evangelist’s memories of Peter’s preaching.
  • It takes Clement of Alexandria’s statement as pointing to a Roman request for copies of a transcript of a specific set of Petrine lectures instead of a request that he write a new work based on his memories of having heard Peter preach for “a long time.”

This phenomenon can be described different ways. One could say that the Orchard hypothesis reinterprets or adjusts the patristic claims in order to incorporate them, but while it gestures at these data points, it does not incorporate them into the theory without adjustment.

It thus must do what every account of Synoptic origins does: Take the patristic claims as in some measure accurate and as in some measure inaccurate. The parts it deems inaccurate the Orchard hypothesis sets aside just like other proposals do. It thus is not any more comprehensive with regard to the evidence than the other proposals.

Indeed, the fact that it is sometimes represented as explaining the evidence without also noting that it adjusts the meaning of the patristic testimony is worrisome.

Ultimately, the Orchard hypothesis fails to convince. The core of the hypothesis is the proposal that Mark is based on a set of lectures Peter gave on Matthew and Luke, and the claims made regarding this core set of propositions are implausible.

Even granting for purposes of argument that Matthew and Luke were written first (something that can be vigorously argued), it is antecedently very unlikely that:

  1. an eyewitness like Peter would have given a set of lectures on Matthew and Luke, alternating between them in the course of a single lecture (Claim #4)
  2. Mark would have had such a set of lectures transcribed (Claim #5), and
  3. there would have been a demand for multiple copies of the transcript, given its high cost and the existence of Matthew and Luke (Claim #6).

Further, it is precisely with respect to these claims that the Orchard hypothesis must adjust the patristic testimony (from John the Presbyter and Clement of Alexandria) in order to support itself.

It could even be said that the Orchard hypothesis misrepresents the patristic data. However, we may view this more charitably by saying it partially incorporates the data (by acknowledging John and Clement’s claims that Mark is somehow connected with the preaching of Peter) and partially rejects it (by setting aside the way in which those sources say it is related to Peter’s preaching—i.e., based on Mark’s memory).

However, the fact that it must reject the means by which these sources connect Mark’s Gospel to Peter’s preaching means that they do not offer the Orchard hypothesis positive support. It must simultaneously accept and reject significant claims from these sources, resulting in no net support.

In sum: The core of the Orchard hypothesis involves a set of claims that are antecedently improbable and not supported by the posterior, patristic evidence we have available to us.

It thus represents a clever and noble effort to account for the data, but one which ultimately does not succeed.