Bible In Context: The Continuing Vitality of Reformed Biblical Scholarship

By Peter Enns

[Peter Enns is Professor of Old Testament and Biblical Hermeneutics at Westminster Theological Seminary, Philadelphia. This article is a revised version of his inaugural lecture given 15 March 2006.]

I. Introduction

As I thought about this inaugural ceremony, my personal theme quickly became “my teachers.” Four of them are participating today, Professors Waltke, Longman, Groves, and McCartney. If time allowed, I would like nothing better then to list all of my teachers, like the author of Hebrews, one by one, and talk at length about how much they have meant to me, how they have influenced me, how they have changed me. Indeed, how—whether they like it or not—they are responsible for who I am.

My Westminster teachers deepened and broadened my understanding of Scripture and the gospel. And they did so through the six familiar areas of our curriculum: Old Testament, New Testament, Systematic Theology, Practical Theology, Church History, and Apologetics—all interrelated, yet also different, diverse disciplines, but all adding, from their own perspectives, a piece of the puzzle. At Harvard I became part of another academic community, and one for which, like Westminster, I will always be thankful. There my teachers deepened and broadened me in another way, by studying Scripture with a more detailed historical focus—linguistics, archaeology, ancient Near Eastern studies, history of interpretation. Of course, there were challenges, but it was a deeply satisfying, engaging, content time.

These two phases in my academic life have both been, in their own way, powerful and influential, demanding serious reflection. In fact, over the years, a fair bit of my thinking has been fueled by an internal dialog between these diverse influences. And more than once I have pondered how it all comes together. One of the ways I have come to bring some focus to that internal dialog is to ask myself a concrete question: “What is distinctive about a Reformed approach to the study of Scripture?” There are a number of legitimate and worthwhile answers one could give to this question. But today I want to focus on only one of those distinctives, one that reflects closely my own intellectual and academic journey as a biblical scholar.

The distinctive, as indicated by the title of the lecture, is “Bible in Context.” God gave us the Bible, as we all know, not as an abstract treatise, hurled down to earth from an Olympian height, nor as a Platonic ideal kept at a safe distance from the human drama.[1] Rather, Scripture is God’s gracious revelation of himself and his actions in the concrete, everyday world of ancient Semitic and Hellenistic peoples. And for this reason, the study of Scripture as an historical phenomenon—especially in recent generations—is neither optional nor peripheral for the church. Rather, although at times very challenging, it is a wonderful, vital, and indispensable responsibility for students of Scripture. Through such study, by God’s Spirit, we, as students of Scripture, come to learn more deeply and more broadly who God is and what he has done. And we bring those insights to the church.

In naming the historical study of Scripture as a distinctive of the Reformed tradition, I do not mean to suggest by any means that the Reformed tradition has sole legal rights, as if other Christian traditions are somehow devoid of historical work. In fact, not only is the Reformed tradition not alone in this endeavor, but the work of our forebears is neither exhaustive nor immune to criticism. I simply mean that this issue, from very early on, has been handled quite intentionally, seriously, and with great profit in the history of Reformed biblical scholarship.[2] Furthermore, I do not consider this to be a novel or penetrating observation for this audience, as if the richness of Reformed biblical studies is a treasure hidden to all but a few.

In fact, my point is the opposite. My reason for picking this as my topic today is simply as a reminder to us of how vibrant and honorable a tradition of biblical scholarship we enjoy here—and perhaps to encourage us in the privilege of maintaining that responsibility. There is much work to do in the joining of our tradition’s documented commitment to “Bible in Context” with the details of current historical biblical research. New theories and data seem to be a regular companion to OT and NT studies. And our tradition models for us both a submission to Scripture and a commitment to academic honesty and rigor.

So today I would like to illustrate this commitment by bringing to the surface several episodes, from both OT and NT studies, from one segment of the Reformed tradition, Old Princeton and the early decades of Westminster. I am restricting myself to this period, not only because of time constraints, but because of the obvious, genetic connection from then to Westminster today. Also, it was during this time that the historical study of Scripture came face to face with both new challenges and possibilities like never before, not unlike our current day.

II. Old Testament Study as an Historical Discipline

Let us begin with OT scholars at Old Princeton and early Westminster. To appreciate their contributions more fully, we have to remind ourselves of what they were up against. The nineteenth century was a tough one for conservatives and the OT, for two reasons: internal tensions and external challenges. These two factors changed OT study, and have proven to be of lasting influence.

First, what do I mean by “internal tensions”? The late nineteenth century was a climactic moment. For generations European scholars had been focusing their steady, penetrating, analytical, Teutonic gaze at explaining internal tensions in the OT, specifically the Pentateuch. Of course, I am referring to source criticism and especially Julius Wellhausen. Wellhausen is a towering figure in the history of modern biblical scholarship, and his influence is far-reaching. It has been said that twentieth-century pentateuchal scholarship is essentially a footnote to Wellhausen. This may be a bit of an exaggeration, but still, the basic outline of his work, now 120 years old, remains the dominant view of the academy and in certain ecclesiastical contexts—and it is not impossible to find evangelical scholars conceding points here and there, at least to some degree.

What did he say that was so influential? There are two main points to his argument, well-known to all students of the OT. First, the Pentateuch was not a single book written by Moses, or any one person. Rather it was made up of four originally independent documents—sources—originating much later than the time of Moses, and separated by geography, time, and ideology. These sources were not brought together until the postexilic period by a group of priests. This is known as the Documentary Hypothesis, and Wellhausen argued that he had identified these sources and—a very important point to keep in mind—placed them in their proper chronological order.

The problem this raised for Old Princeton and others at the time was not so much simply the suggestion that sources were used in the forming of the Pentateuch.[3] The real problem, and the second point to his argument, can be seen already in the title to Wellhausen’s 1883 source-critical magnum opus:

Prolegomena to the History of Israel.[4] The textual rearrangement was prolegomena— merely the first step to a complete rethinking of Israel’s history. Perhaps the most problematic aspect of this concerns the law. For Wellhausen, and others, the law of Moses was not the premonarchic foundation of Israelite religion, but the post-exilic corruption of that religion at the hands of legalistic, bureaucratic priests. Wellhausen was tremendously persuasive, and his theory soon became a reigning paradigm. It is no surprise whatsoever, therefore, to see a number of OT scholars at Old Princeton and early Westminster investing a significant amount of their academic energy in taking Wellhausen and others on. If you can demonstrate that the law was early, you have completely undercut Wellhausen’s thesis. So, the fight was on, and the primary focus was on the dating of the law.[5]

This challenge of Wellhausen and the internal data was considerable: the law is last in Israel’s history, not first. The Pentateuch has it backwards, and the idea was spreading like wildfire. But, if that were not enough to occupy your career, add to this a second challenge: external data, meaning biblical archaeology, in its infancy in the late nineteenth century.[6] Of course, I am referring to such things as ANE creation and flood stories, law codes, wisdom literature, and so on. These developments gave rise to what would come to dominate OT scholarship through to today: the comparative approach. Suddenly Israel could now be compared to other ancient, and in many cases, older societies. This meant that core elements of the OT could now be studied relative to other ancient peoples. In other words, the OT, especially Genesis, did not seem all that special anymore.

This was the two-pronged challenge of the internal and external data, and this basically defined the OT academic landscape for Old Princeton and early Westminster. With respect to the internal tensions, the response was quick, thorough, and relentless. We need think only of the famous writings of such men as J. A. Alexander, W. H. Green, R. D. Wilson, E. J. Young, among others. The challenge embodied by Wellhausen was met with a monumental, head-on effort. But what about the challenge of the external data? How was that met? These men were not silent, by any means, but we do not see the same focused, sustained energy invested in countering the external data.[7] In fact, some of the more important external data seem not to have become even a central consideration for these scholars, at least relative to the internal issues—even though those external data received no less scholarly attention and certainly provided very significant challenges of their own. The impact of the Mesopotamian creation and flood accounts alone constituted a virtual paradigm shift in OT studies.

I have often puzzled why these external issues were not front and center for Old Princeton and early Westminster as much as the internal, textual issues. That is anybody’s guess, but allow me to speculate: their hands were full. Truth be told, they actually had three weighty challenges bearing down on them, all at the same moment: not only the textual challenge of Wellhausen, and the archaeological challenge of the external data, but also—something I am not even addressing today—the scientific challenge of Darwin, perhaps the issue of the day. Textual, archeological, scientific challenges. Basic and long-standing notions, not only of the Bible but of the world, seemed to be unraveling all around them—and not just in academia, but in popular culture. Of these three pressing challenges, the textual one was the primary focus in part because this is what these men were trained to deal with as OT scholars of the day. They were not biologists. And as for the external data, well, all this was very new, and you have to pick your battles. And face it, external data were simply harder to counter than the textual issues. Artifacts and texts were things that were actually there and could not be dispatched with as easily as Wellhausen’s creative shuffling of passages. Hence, the primary focus was source criticism, with other weighty issues addressed less systematically.

This explanation I have just given has the ring of truth for me as I try to understand this period in our tradition. But I would like to suggest still an additional angle from which to try to understand this relative reticence in countering the external data—perhaps they were reticent because they understood the importance of “Bible in Context.” That such an explanation likewise has the ring of truth is more than simply suggested in the following comment by W. H. Green:

No objection can be made to the demand that the sacred writings should be subject to the same critical tests as other literary products of antiquity. When were they written, and by whom? For whom were they intended, and with what end in view? These are questions that may fairly be asked respecting the several books of the Bible, as respecting other books, and the same criteria that are applicable likewise in the other. Every production of any age bears the stamp of that age. It takes its shape from influences then at work. It is part of the life of the period, and can only be properly estimated and understood from being viewed in its original connections. Its language will be the language of the time when it was produced. The subject, the style of thought, the local and personal allusions, will have relation to the circumstances of the period, to which in fact the whole and every part of it must have its adaptation, and which must have their rightful place in determining its true explanation. Inspiration has no tendency to obliterate those distinctive qualities and characteristics which link men to their own age.[8]

This is a wonderful articulation of Reformed biblical scholarship. And it indicates that Green expected to be influenced by developments in OT studies concerning “Bible in Context.” I would like to give just one concrete example where this principle was put into practice, and it concerns Ecclesiastes.

Green—as well as E. J. Young (see below)—came to the historical conclusion that Ecclesiastes was not written by Solomon in the early first millennium B.C., but several hundred years later, in the postexilic period. In coming to this conclusion, they were in line with the growing consensus in OT scholarship, which challenged the long-standing traditional Jewish and Christian attribution of the book to Solomon.[9] Why did Green and Young arrive at this conclusion? It wasn’t a momentary defection to the enemy’s camp. Rather, it was because they were convinced by the linguistic data.

The type of argument that convinced Green and Young is one that was to become more pronounced in subsequent decades. As more and more ancient Semitic texts began to be discovered and translated, it became more possible to compare them to each other linguistically and put them in some chronological sequence. The far-reaching and lasting impact of such linguistic work for OT studies was twofold: (1) Biblical Hebrew could be placed on a timeline with other Semitic languages. This led to debates about when Hebrew arose in the ancient world—in other words, where on the timeline to place the Hebrew in our Bibles. (2) Now certain books of the OT itself could be placed on a timeline relative to each other. This led to debates about when to date certain books of the OT.

It was this growing linguistic knowledge that led nineteenth-century scholarship to date Ecclesiastes to the postexilic period—fifth century B.C.[10] But regardless of the specific date, some date well after Solomon was the consensus. Franz Delitzsch is often cited as an early representative of this view: “If the Book of Koheleth were of old Solomonic origin, then there is no history of the Hebrew language.”[11] Translation: there is no way, on linguistic grounds, that Ecclesiastes is Solomonic. Now it is certainly the case that Green and Young did not believe everything they heard, and they did not come to their positions concerning Ecclesiastes quickly. In fact, I think it is fair to say, at least with Green, that he came to his conclusion reluctantly. It was only later in his career that Green concluded that the language of Ecclesiastes “stands alone in the Bible.” He then concurred with Delitzsch.

After all that has been said, however, we do not see how the argument from the language can be met. We conclude, therefore, that it is decisive.... It is alleged, and the fact seems to be, that the Hebrew of this book is so Aramean [i.e., Aramaic] that it must belong to a period later than Solomon.[12]

Green does not commit himself to a specific date, although Young in Introduction to the Old Testament suggests the time of Malachi, the mid-fifth century B.C.[13]

In either case, one can sense, perhaps, a tone of resignation. But that is precisely the valuable point to bear in mind. These men were so committed to the historical study of Scripture, that even if it led them to uncomfortable waters, they followed. Sure, rather than rushing in headlong like energetic children, they may have tested the water ten times before entering. But they still wound up going in. Why? Because if that is where the evidence leads, that is where it leads. As trained—and Reformed—biblical scholars, they were wonderfully situated to understand the value—the indispensability and responsibility—of reading the Bible as an historical document. And this is no trivial conclusion they arrived at, for when you date Ecclesiastes and who you think wrote it affect how you understand it.[14]

It has struck me that if Green and Young had been smaller-minded people, they could easily have taken a different approach. They could have reacted against the historical arguments—resisted the comparative data—wholesale, just as they resisted Wellhausen’s historical reconstruction. But these men did not, and that should not be passed over too quickly. Put yourself in their place. These were tense times. There was volatility in the academy and in the churches. Battle lines were being drawn. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to avoid conflict altogether and simply reiterate familiar conclusions. But in the midst of all this, the Reformed tradition—perhaps at some risk— bravely acknowledged the central importance of this newly introduced linguistic evidence. In retrospect, they may have been overly cautious at times, maybe in some cases even a bit too selective, but that is perfectly understandable given the climate, and should not overshadow their willingness to innovate.

It seems to me that these men were stuck between two worlds. You had the defense of Scripture against some people who really tried to undermine it. But you also had this growing body of extrabiblical data that helped situate the Bible in its ancient context. And this information was deemed unavoidably relevant for understanding Scripture, even if it challenged traditional conclusions. They were caught between preserving tradition and moving it forward, between always reformed and always reforming.

III. New Testament Study as an Historical Discipline

Moving to the NT, we see a similar posture toward the role of historical research for biblical studies. I would like to mention—briefly of course—just three men: Warfield, Machen, and Vos. First, let me say that these men wrote a lot, and we should be careful that none of us quote them too selectively, however tempting some sound bites may be. I have tried to be very conscious to avoid that trap. Literary context and historical moment are both very important for understanding the words of any scholar. With that in mind, what they say here serves an illustrative purpose, some of which will likely be familiar to many if not most of you.

Warfield in a way embodies the well-known Reformed commitment to a full-orbed understanding of Scripture as concurrently both divine and human. In an 1894 essay he puts it this way. He considers it fundamental

that the whole of Scripture is the product of the divine activities which enter it, not by superseding the activities of the human authors, but by working confluently with them, so that the Scriptures are the joint product of divine and human activities, both of which penetrate them at every point, working harmoniously together to the production of a writing which is not divine here and human there, but at once divine and human in every part, every word and every particular.[15]

This is an articulation of his well-known and influential theory of concursus. He goes on to say:

On this conception, therefore, for the first time full justice is done to both elements of Scripture [human and divine]. Neither is denied because the other is recognized. And neither is limited to certain portions of Scripture so that place may be made for the other. As full justice is done to the human element as is done by those who deny that there is any divine element in the Bible, for of every word in the Bible, it is asserted that it has been conceived in a human mind and written by a human hand. As full justice is done to the divine element as is done by those who deny that there is any human element in the Bible, for of every word in the Bible it is asserted that it is inspired by God, and has been written under the direct and immediate guidance of the Holy Spirit.[16]

These words were written for a fairly popular readership, not for scholars. Here Warfield had a wonderful opportunity perhaps to mend a fence to protect the sheep against things that were new and might not be understood. But rather he affirmed, positively and in no uncertain terms, the integral role of the “human element” (as he puts it) of Scripture. And as his own scholarship affirms, this did not remain on the level of theory to talk about Scripture and then leave to the side, but it is an implicit affirmation of the importance of engaging that human element.[17]

Machen echoed that principle by arguing that to study Scripture was to study history. He writes, “The student of the New Testament should be primarily an historian. The center and core of the Bible is history. Everything else that the Bible contains is fitted into an historical framework and leads to an historical conclusion.”[18] He continues,

Give up on history, and you can retain some things. You can retain a belief in God. But philosophical theism has never been a powerful force in the world. You can retain a lofty ethical ideal. But be perfectly clear about one point—you can never retain a gospel. For gospel means “good news,” tidings, information about something that has happened. A gospel independent of history is simply a contradiction in terms.[19]

These words are from a sermon Machen preached in 1915—another popular setting. And, as the context of these quotes indicates, he is contending here against the truly liberal notion that what is central to the gospel is not whether these things happened, but whether belief can inspire an ethical life. And this is where an historical study of Scripture can lead. The recent challenges of biblical scholarship at that time were for some simply too great to maintain traditional views. But, in an effort to retain some semblance of Christianity, the gospel was redefined, neutered, to conform better to the nagging historical data. This redefining of Christianity certainly happened, and, as all know well, is in fact still happening. But Machen’s response, to a popular audience, is telling. To defend the gospel amid these new historical challenges, what is needed is more attention to history, not less. The way to address the historical argument is not to dismiss it simply on theological grounds, not simply a reiteration of a theological tradition, but a defense of that tradition in the only way that will have lasting results in the face of these historical challenges—through the study of ancient history.

As a trained NT scholar, Machen applied this principle to concrete, pressing issues of the day, one of which was the origin of Paul’s religion. In the book by the same name,[20] Machen challenged, on historical grounds, the view that Paul’s “religion” had little connection with the historical Jesus, that is, that Paul “invented” Christianity in a specifically Greco-Roman context (mystery religions and Gnostic-like thought). As part of his response, Machen writes the following:

In order that this hypothesis may be examined, it will be advisable to begin with a brief general survey of the Jewish environment of Paul. The survey will necessarily be of the most cursory character, and it will not be based upon original research.[21]

Two things are worth noting, even in this brief quote. First, a “survey of the Jewish environment” is “advisable” for examining the critical position that Paul invented Christianity. An historical argument requires an historical counterargument.

Second, Machen makes a specific appeal to Paul’s Jewish environment. Machen was a NT scholar of the highest caliber. But, as he indicates in the quote above, his chapter on the Jewish environment of Paul (from which this quote is taken) relies almost entirely on secondary sources.[22] This suggests that he is not entirely comfortable with the Jewish primary literature, at least not enough to use it in the heat of battle. But this is not because Machen was a sloth or thought it unimportant—quite the opposite. Remember, Machen had studied in Germany at a time when the Jewish context of the NT was not a central academic focal point, and so Machen was not trained to handle Jewish sources. He was expert, however, in the very important matter of the Greco-Roman context of the NT, and this shines through his writings. In fact, in his doctoral training this Greco-Roman context was promoted not only as the only proper background of NT theology, but as its source.

You see, it is a testimony to Machen’s academic instincts and rigor that he would even consider “a survey of the Jewish environment” to be “advisable.” To counter the critical view, supported as it was by an overblown appreciation of Greco-Romanism, Machen expanded his historical research rather than narrowing it, even if he was restricted to secondary sources. There are reasons, therefore, why Machen was dependent on secondary sources to understand Paul’s Jewish environment. To continue Machen’s legacy in this regard is, therefore, not to mirror this deficiency by dismissing the importance of the Second Temple context, but to continue following his own academic instincts to correct that deficiency.

That tack is precisely what we find in Vos. More clearly than Machen, Vos articulates the positive role that historical research, especially the Second Temple Jewish environment, can play in our understanding of Scripture.

Precious (I hope) to every Westminster student is the understanding that Paul’s already/not yet eschatology is a central element of his theology. Vos investigates this issue against the backdrop of Second Temple Judaism and concludes that Paul’s eschatology is to a certain degree dependent upon this earlier theological development—even though Paul certainly has distinctive marks.[23] Both Pauline and Second Temple Jewish eschatology have their basis in the OT, but this common basis

can not wholly account for the agreement between it [Second Temple Judaism] and Paul as to data going beyond the O.T. There is no escape from the conclusion that a piece of Jewish eschatology has been here by Revelation incorporated into the Apostle’s teaching. Paul had none less than Jesus Himself as a predecessor in this. The main structure of the Jewish Apocalyptic is embodied in our Lord’s teaching as well as in Paul’s.[24]

There is little ambiguity here. Vos states there is an ultimate OT root for both Jewish and Pauline eschatology, but there are elements they share that are not OT concepts. Since the Jewish eschatology preceded Paul, Vos concludes that therefore, by revelation, Paul incorporated the Jewish eschatology into his teaching. And don’t worry, Vos says, Jesus did that already!

It is perhaps an indication of a cautionary stance that we find this quote imbedded in a footnote—albeit in a two-page footnote. Still, if you scan these footnotes in The Pauline Eschatology, what strikes you is that Vos seems to be quite conversant with the Jewish primary sources, more so than Machen; at least he interacts with them. The reason for this, I suspect, is that Vos’s doctoral work, although likewise in Germany, was in Arabic Studies, which was the nineteenth-century equivalent of ancient Near Eastern studies today. Vos’s education necessarily dealt with Semitic matters, and so for him it was perhaps quite natural to engage this important historical dimension. For us, however, the crucial point to appreciate is how both Machen and Vos brought contemporary historical biblical scholarship to bear on understanding particular issues regarding the Bible—in this case Paul—either in a polemical work such as Machen’s or in a more descriptive endeavor such as Vos’s. And let us not lose sight of what these synthetic insights were applied to: not something so relatively innocuous as the dating of Ecclesiastes, and not simply as an exercise in dancing around the theological periphery, but for understanding nothing less than Paul’s theology.

I am not arguing, implicitly or explicitly, that Second Temple studies should control how we understand Paul over against the history of the Christian church. Rather, our increased understanding of that context should, with great joy, be brought into a deepening and broadening of how we understand Paul— even if that deepening and broadening presents challenges. The context does not control Paul, the Spirit does. But the “Paul” that the Spirit controls was a first-century Jew. And a deeper understanding of that environment cannot be ignored. Neither am I saying that the church “needs” to understand Second Temple Judaism in order to understand Paul. That is not the case, for myself or Machen or Vos, and it is quite off-topic. The issue is depth and breadth for those engaged in a serious study of Scripture. And for that purpose, what Machen and Vos model for us is this: it is not simply the OT that forms the only proper background for the study of Paul, but Paul’s context, Second Temple Judaism, as well. To understand the Jewish background better is to understand Paul better.

It seems to me that the mindset Machen and Vos exemplified would have led them to engage recent developments in NT studies on a decidedly historical level. I know the New Perspective may be for some a polarizing subject, and I truly do not mean to take advantage of this moment to contribute to this polarization. My intention here is the opposite, to be constructive. How this issue is handled is very important, and maybe remembering Machen and Vos can lead to a way forward. In responding to the New Perspective, Reformed commentators of the Old Princeton/Westminster tradition, more than anyone, are poised to address that issue first and foremost on historical grounds. Otherwise, we run the risk of denying one very important dimension of our biblical legacy while trying to protect another very important dimension of our theological legacy. The New Perspective is fundamentally an historical argument with numerous potential and debatable theological implications. And it can be addressed, improved upon, and corrected on historical grounds. In principle, it can even be completely dismantled and discredited; but, again, this would have to be shown on historical grounds. If Machen and Vos were with us today, I do not know where they would come out on all this. (I do not like to speak for those no longer alive on issues they never addressed.) But I do say with all confidence that they would be all over this issue, doing the very hard and challenging work of biblical scholarship, writing books and articles where the two main foci would be Paul and his Jewish context. And we, the heirs of this legacy, do the Reformed faith a disservice if we restrict ourselves to the perceived disjunction between the New Perspective and our theological heritage, and then render this academic model out of bounds solely on that basis.

It is sometimes a challenge to join a high view of Scripture to a commitment to serious historical biblical research. Facing this challenge led Old Princeton and early Westminster to chart a course that avoided the extremes—a “third way,” a phrase that attempts to capture so much of our own history. And that way was possible for the Reformed tradition because it was supported by a vibrant, dynamic understanding of Scripture—that it is unquestionably a divine, inspired text, and also on every page, bears the unmistakable, discern-able, and wonderful stamp of the time-and space-bound human beings who by inspiration produced it. And this stamp is not to be observed theoretically as simply a way to “talk about the Bible.” Rather it is an affirmation that the human element of Scripture is worthy of the most careful and thoughtful reflection, with potentially important, theologically significant payoff. This is a distinctive and vital mark of the Old Princeton/Westminster legacy.

IV. How Things Have Changed

The legacy of these generations of Reformed biblical scholars is a wonderful one. But, at the same time, we must observe that things have changed in biblical studies since these early years. Those changes have made further progress inevitable. Now, by “progress” I do not mean abandoning older positions simply because they are old—being trendy. I mean engaging our minds with the state of the discipline, with all the tools and information we have available to us, being neither foolhardy nor reactionary.

What are those changes in biblical studies? Of course, in particulars, there are many and we could be here for days outlining them, but I would like to mention just two general issues, which I see as being interrelated. First, in the late nineteenth century, biblical archaeology and Semitic linguistics were only in their infancy. Since that time, we simply have much more historical and linguistic data to work with. We have learned so much more about ancient Semitic history, religions, worldviews, ideologies—much of which contributes in some way to our understanding of Israel relative to these ancient neighbors, by comparison and contrast. Some of those advances are more important and central than others, but they all indicate that serious historical study of Scripture must continue. Who are we kidding?—it is continuing. The question is how engaged we, as Reformed thinkers, will continue to be—to what degree we will continue the Reformed legacy by addressing these kinds of new issues, and by continuing to allow that hard work to affect how we read and understand our Bibles, and to do that challenging work because we are Reformed, not despite the fact.

The second change is related to the first in that it is a result of this flowering of historical data. The climate of the early years was one of general unease regarding these new developments in biblical studies, despite the contributions noted earlier. As we all know, there was a battle raging, and it was fought in seminaries, churches, and on grassroots levels. Over the last one hundred years, things have mellowed a bit. Fundamentalism is still very much part of the conservative Christian scene—in some quarters it is reasserting itself—but the battles that characterized the early years are no longer commonplace.

As I see it, one important reason for this is familiarity. Comparative study is not only foundational to every high-level Hebrew Bible and New Testament doctoral program I know of, but it is those very programs to which evangelical professors have been keen to send their best students. Generations of evangelicals have been trained in comparative studies, and that training has bred familiarity and, hence, a greater degree of comfort with things that would have been held in suspicion in previous generations. More importantly, perhaps, comfort and familiarity have prompted evangelicals to rethink a number of important issues that would have been litmus tests in previous generations. To get a quick feel for this, one can compare the writings on Genesis from the earlier years to evangelical commentaries and monographs written in recent years.[25] These developments do not represent a dismissal of the past but the continuation of true, honest, and faithful reflection on “Bible in Context.”

This increasing degree of comfort with developments in biblical studies was certainly seen in the decades subsequent to Westminster’s founding. Two names that always seem to come up in this context—and rightly so—are Ned Stone-house and Ray Dillard, both of whose careers were marked by creativity and innovation. Stonehouse’s work in the redactional history of the gospels in 1944 was actually an early reflection of what would become more popular in Germany in the next decade.[26] Likewise, Dillard’s work in the theology of Chronicles in the 1980s,[27] although causing a stir among some, was dead-on and kept pace with such important figures as Sarah Japhet and Hugh Williamson.

In my view, what I consider to be one of the high-water marks of this progress in the Westminster tradition is the 1987 faculty monograph, Inerrancy and Hermeneutic.[28] The first chapter, written by editor Harvie Conn, immediately puts the volume in the context of the previous faculty symposium, The Infallible Word, published in 1946.[29] This is a clear indication that the 1987 faculty saw their work in continuity with the past, but also saw that a fresh appraisal was needed. The title reflects this as well. Inerrancy is ultimately a hermeneutical issue. And inerrancy is a great tradition, but its older formulations are also undergoing legitimate challenge through the modern study of Scripture. The way through the challenge is by debate—and, if you read some the essays geared particularly to biblical studies, that debate results in a synthesis of old and new.

Our tradition certainly has a well-documented legacy of serious, historically oriented biblical studies, open to seeing new ways where the Spirit and evidence lead, open to seeing how God is leading his people to greater understanding of his Word. And there is much work waiting to be done with respect to furthering this legacy concretely by engaging new discoveries and theories, as well as perhaps reinvestigating older discussions.

V. Why Is This Important?

There is so much more to say on this matter—I feel like I have hardly begun. But you will be happy to know that we are now coming to an end. I would like to conclude by making two very brief points about why I think this type of study is so important for God’s people. First, it provides a type of apologetic concerning Scripture that is needed. A defense of Scripture that engages and accounts for its historical shape, in its details, the very details God put there, is one that will have a greater impact on knowledgeable and honestly skeptical readers, of which there are many. As more and more evidence comes to light we need more and more to bring the data into conversation with how we think and talk about Scripture. And by doing so we can also pull the rug out from under the Bible’s “cultured despisers”—the perceived strength of their position, the human dimension of Scripture, is ultimately its weakness.[30] The Reformed doctrine of Scripture, which sees the Bible as being wholly divine and human, “in every part, every word, every particular,” as Warfield put it, is a tremendous base upon which to work.

This apologetic value goes beyond its effect on those who may be outside the faith, or on the periphery. It applies to Christians, those for whom a commitment to Scripture as God’s Word is deep and non-negotiable, but for whom the historical context of Scripture creates tensions—tensions that students of Scripture have felt with an increased force in recent generations. The purpose of such study for the knowledgeable skeptic is to remove the offense of the Bible’s humanity. The purpose of such study for the struggling Christian is to prevent the all-too-common slide into unbelief. The path from conservatism to liberalism is well-worn—but far, far less frequently has the journey been taken in reverse, and this should tell us something about the kind of apologetic that is needed.

Second, and much more importantly, this historical study of Scripture is a reminder of how very near God is to us, how down and dirty he gets. We are all prone, in an academic setting at least, to speak of God in “distant” language, as a concept, an idea, a principle, a subject of study—an occupational hazard. But we all need to be reminded—and at some times more than others—what is so foundational to the gospel, which are the lengths to which God went to bridge that distance.

As distant as God may seem, and as distant as we sometimes try to keep him, Scripture reminds us, gently but clearly, from beginning to end, that such a posture cannot last for long. For on every page is a reminder of how determined God is to be right there in the ups and downs of the drama of redemptive history. And if we see that, perhaps we will be reminded of how determined he is to be right there in the ups and downs of our histories. Perhaps the pleasant irony presents itself: the more we study Scripture as an ancient historical phenomenon, the more we see how it transcends that ancient historical setting.

This is more than a “distinctive of the Old Princeton/Westminster tradition” and more than simply an academic exercise. It is a way to remember—a modern way of echoing the psalmist, who praises God for bridging the distance:

I will remember the deeds of the LORD; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all your works and consider all your mighty deeds. Your ways, O God, are holy. What god is so great as our God? (Ps 77:11–13)

Notes

1. As Herman Bavinck puts it: “The organic nature of Scripture. .. implies the idea that the Holy Spirit, in the inscripturation of the word of God, did not spurn anything human to serve as an organ of the divine. The revelation of God is not abstractly supernatural but has entered into the human fabric, into persons and states of beings, into forms and usages, into history and life. It does not fly high above us but descends into our situation; it has become flesh and blood, like us in all things except sin. Divine revelation is now an ineradicable constituent of this cosmos in which we live and, effecting renewal and restoration, continues its operation. The human has become an instrument of the divine; the natural has become a revelation of the supernatural; the visible has become a sign and seal of the invisible. In the process of inspiration, use has been made of all the gifts and forces resident in human nature” (H. Bavinck, Prolegomena [vol. 1 of Reformed Dogmatics; trans. J. Vriend; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2003], 442–43).
2. Calvin understood how, in inspiring Scripture, God accommodated himself to the historical context to which he spoke, and this has remained a Reformed trajectory. For example, regarding Gen 1, in discussing the “waters above the firmament” (raqia = vault or dome of heaven; NIV “expanse”) of Gen 1:6, Calvin concludes that such an understanding of the heavens is an accommodation to what the “rude and unlearned may perceive” and that whoever “wishes to learn astronomy and other recondite arts, let him go elsewhere” (Commentaries on the First Book of Moses Called Genesis [trans. John King; 2 vols.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1948], 1:79–80). For a recent treatment of accommodation in Calvin, the early church, and some implications for the current evangelical discussion, see Kent Sparks, “The Sun Also Rises: Accommodation in Inscripturation and Interpretation,” in Evangelicals and Scripture: Tradition, Authority and Hermeneutics (ed. V. Bacote, L. C. Migue´lez, and D. L. Okholm; Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2004), 112–32.
3. Although Wellhausen’s analysis of sources was certainly radical, Old Princeton and early Westminster did not stumble so much over the notion of sources in principle. The concern for them was that these sources be restricted to Genesis, and it was Moses who compiled them. For example, E. J. Young thought it “perfectly possible that in the compilation of the Pentateuch Moses may have made excerpts from previously existing written documents” (An Introduction to the Old Testament [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964], 153). Such a view goes back at least to Richard Simon (1638–1712) and Jean Astruc (1684–1766), both early figures in the development of source criticism, but who also defended core Mosaic authorship against the far more radical notions of Spinoza (1632–1677) and others. For references to Green and a brief discussion of the topic in more general terms, see Peter Enns, “William Henry Green and the Authorship of the Pentateuch: Some Historical Considerations,” JETS 45 (2002): 397.
4. Wellhausen published his famous Geschichte Israels in 1878. A second addition was published in 1883 with the better-known title Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels, which was translated into English two years later as Prolegomena to the History of Israel (with an introduction by W. Robertson Smith). The ET was reprinted in 1957 (Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel [trans. A. Menzies and J. S. Black; New York: Meridian, 1957]).
5. This focus can be seen, for example, in Geerhardus Vos’s Princeton master’s thesis, which he wrote at the tender age of twenty-four and later published as The Mosaic Origin of the Pentateuchal Codes (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1886).
6. Although interest in antiquity, particularly the Holy Land, spans the Christian centuries, investigations increased toward the end of the eighteenth and into the nineteenth centuries. In the late nineteenth century, the British archaeologist W. Flinders Petrie is credited with developing the modern “science” of archaeology, namely, the recognition that pottery and other artifacts could help determine successive levels of occupation at a given site. His work at Tell el-Hesi (1890) is where he first applied his technique. See the succinct description by Walter G. Williams, Archeology in Biblical Research (New York: Abingdon, 1965), 23–35, esp. 29.
7. For example, in one section of his Studies in Genesis One, E. J. Young interacts somewhat with Genesis in its ancient, mythic context; but his comments are restricted to Gen 1:2, namely, the extent to which that broader debate affects one’s understanding of the relationship between the first two verses of Genesis ([Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, 1964], 15–30). Young’s argument centers on whether in 1:2 Moses used mythic sources in any conscious way; whether his use of mythic vocabulary (e.g., tehom, deep) entailed his adoption of mythic connotations; and how all of this affects the factual nature of what is described. Young’s conclusion is that Moses’ use of mythic vocabulary carries no mythic overtones (tehom simply means “the abyss or the great ocean” [29]), and that Moses simply used vocabulary at his disposal to describe the “condition in which this earth existed until God uttered the command that light should spring into existence” (30). Young’s comments on this particular issue provide some clues as to his views of Genesis and myth in general, but they fall short of a developed theological appraisal of the general topic.
8. William Henry Green, Moses and the Prophets (New York: Robert Carter, 1883), 17–18; my emphasis.
9. Moses Stuart puts it succinctly: “one and all of the older writers declare [authorship of Ecclesiastes] for Solomon” (Commentary on Ecclesiastes [New York: Putnam, 1851], 67; emphasis original). Stuart reviews the main players in the debate since Grotius (1583–1645), to whom Stuart attributes the modern instigation of doubts concerning Solomonic authorship, and then presents evidence of non-Solomonic authorship in general categories that are still very active today: internal and external data (the latter including diction and style). Green was certainly not the lone conservative voice in his view. E. W. Hengstenberg patiently lays out arguments for fifteen pages for a date in the early Persian period (A Commentary on Ecclesiastes [1869; repr., Minneapolis: James & Klock, 1977], 1–15).
10. In the subsequent history of scholarship, some have argued for a Hellenistic date, e.g., C. F. Whitley, Koheleth: His Language and Thought (BZAW 148; New York: de Gruyter, 1979); James L. Crenshaw, Ecclesiastes (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987).
11. F. Delitzsch, Song of Songs and Ecclesiastes (trans. M. G. Easton; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1877; repr., Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 190.
12. W. H. Green, Old Testament Literature: Lectures on the Poetical Books of the Old Testament (Princeton: Princeton College, 1884), 56.
13. It may be that Young specified the fifth century in an effort to obviate any suspicion that he was dating Ecclesiastes to the Hellenistic period, although that is only a guess on my part. In this regard, it is worth comparing the two editions of Young’s Introduction. In the 1949 edition (341) he includes the following sentence which is missing from the 1964 edition (349): “The author of the book, then, was one who lived in the post-exilic period and who placed his words in the mouth of Solomon, thus employing a literary device for conveying his message.” I in no way wish to presume that I can decipher why Young made this change (assuming it was intentional), although it seems reasonable to me to suggest that he wished to adopt a more cautious, less controversial tone at a later point in his career.
14. For example, a commitment to Solomonic authorship could lead one to relegate the theological content of Qoheleth’s words to a youthful skepticism of Solomon, thus opening the door to sidelining its theology, which also encourages a reading of the epilogue (12:8–14) as correcting the Qoheleth’s theology. Once a post-Solomonic authorship is acknowledged, one can begin to see more clearly alternate theological possibilities for the book, namely, that the book as a whole addresses authentic, “wise” (albeit incomplete) struggling with Israelite faith in Yahweh. See Peter Enns, “כל־דאדס and the Evaluation of Qohelet’s Wisdom in Qoh 12:13, or The ‘Aisso, and What’s More, B’ Theology of Ecclesiastes,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. H. Najman and J. H. Newman; Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 125–37.
15. B. B. Warfield, “The Divine and Human in the Bible,” in Evolution, Scripture, and Science: Selected Writings (ed. M. A. Noll and D. N. Livingstone; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2000), 57; my emphasis. The essay was originally published in the Presbyterian Journal, May 3, 1894.
16. Warfield, “The Divine and Human,” 57.
17. Given Warfield’s primary dogmatic interests, one cannot expect him to engage certain issues with as much specificity as one would expect of a biblicist, particularly at a time when Second Temple studies was hardly as prominent in biblical studies as it has been since the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Still, a wonderful example of Warfield’s attention to extrabiblical considerations is his treatment of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs (“The Apologetical Value of the Testaments of the XII Patriarchs,” The Presbyterian Review 1 [1880]: 57-84). Warfield’s focus is restricted to the systematic theological question of how this pseudepigraphic work does or does not affect traditional notions of the formation of the NT canon.
18. J. Gresham Machen, “History and Faith,” Princeton Theological Review 13 (1915): 337.
19. Ibid., 337-38.
20. J. Gresham Machen, The Origin of Paul’s Religion (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1925).
21. Ibid., 174.
22. Ibid., 173-207.
23. According to Vos, Paul’s eschatology is distinct from Jewish eschatology in that the former is non-political, more individualistic, and less elaborate and imaginative (The Pauline Eschatology [Grand Rapids: Baker, 1930], 28 n. 36).
24. The Pauline Eschatology, 27–28 n. 36; my emphasis. See also Larry R. Helyer, “The Necessity, Problems, and Promise of Second Temple Judaism for Discussions of New Testament Eschatology,” JETS 47 (2004): 597-615.
25. The manner in which potentially controversial issues surrounding Gen 1–11 are being addressed, e.g., by Bruce K. Waltke (Genesis: A Commentary [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001]); John H. Walton (Genesis [NIV Application Commentary; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001]); and Tremper Longman III (How to Read Genesis [Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2005]), attests to how evangelical and Reformed (in the case of Waltke and Longman) thinking has moved in the past few generations.
26. N. B. Stonehouse, The Witness of the Synoptic Gospels to Christ (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1944); The Origins of the Synoptic Gospels: Some Basic Questions (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1963).
27. For example, Raymond B. Dillard, 2 Chronicles (WBC 15; Waco: Word, 1987); “David’s Census: Perspectives on 2 Samuel 24 and 1 Chronicles 21” in Through Christ’s Word (ed. R. Godfrey and J. Boyd; Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, 1985), 94–107; “The Chronicler’s Jehoshaphat,” TJ 7 (1986): 17-22; “The Chronicler’s Solomon,” WTJ 43 (1980): 289-300; “The Literary Structure of the Chronicler’s Solomon Narrative,” JSOT 30 (1984): 85-93.
28. Harvie Conn, ed., Inerrancy and Hermeneutic: A Tradition, A Challenge, A Debate (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1987).
29. N. B. Stonehouse and Paul Woolley, eds., The Infallible Word (Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, 1946). H. Conn’s reference to that work is in “A Historical Prologue: Inerrancy, Hermeneutic, and Westminter,” in Inerrancy and Hermeneutic, 15.
30. One cannot help but think here of The Da Vinci Code: When Teabing, expert on the Holy Grail, is called upon by the Harvard “symbologist,” Robert Langdon, to explain to skeptical Sophie the true meaning of the Grail, he begins with a declaration of the nature of Scripture itself. With a smile he turns to Sophie and explains, “The Bible is a product of man, my dear. Not God. The Bible did not fall magically from the clouds. Man created it as a historical record of tumultuous times. . .” (Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code [New York: Doubleday, 2003], 231; emphasis original). Although no one would hold such a position literally, the notion that for the Bible to be the Word of God it must have fallen “magically from the clouds” (i.e., be an “other worldly” book) is, I would submit, a commonly held popular position. Such a misunderstanding is not only evident on the popular level but seems to underpin the positions of such capable and influential scholars as Bart Ehrman. A recent online review by Dan Wallace of Ehrman’s Misquoting Jesus advocates a response to Ehrman’s challenges for lay readers that very much resonates with me. He argues that we need to address directly the issues raised by Ehrman and acknowledge where he is correct in an effort to, as Wallace puts it, “insulate” evangelicals rather than “isolate” them (http://www.bible.org/page.asp?page_id=4000#P95_ 33064).