|Alan Garrow Didache|
the problem page
[This apology has been revised in the light of the further observations made by Deane (see comments section). All this is a salutary reminder of the unreliability of memory and the tendency of (at least) some human beings to conflate two sources together.]
In my most recent blog post, published last week, I made an error for which I must now apologise. I stated that, when Ehrman introduced Mark Goodacre’s criticism of the Matthew Conflator Hypothesis, he said that he found it: ‘completely compelling’. This was inaccurate. What Ehrman actually said was, on one occasion: 'I find Goodacre's argument completely convincing', and, on another: ‘I consider it compelling’. Absolutely accurate quotation is essential to fair and effective debate. I have revised the blog post in question - again!
When Evan Powell offered Bart Ehrman a $1,000 wager at the end of 2017 it looked like the Professor had nothing to lose. If he could find a flaw in my solution to the Synoptic Problem he won $1,000 – if he couldn’t find a flaw, and was prepared to say so, he also won $1,000 (for charity). As things turned out Bart received the $1,000 without having to do anything at all. A friendly colleague, Professor Goodacre, offered to take up the challenge on his behalf. Goodacre exposed a (rather easily corrected) weakness in my presentation and the money was duly paid without a quibble – thank you Evan! Everyone was a winner. Powell and Garrow got an increase in awareness of the case for Matthew’s use of Luke; Goodacre had the pleasure of helping out a friend; and Ehrman gained extra money for his charities. In the midst of all this fun and laughter, however, Bart took another gamble - he opted to swing big while swinging blind.
Let me explain.
In the preamble to the $1,000 Challenge Bart was full of confidence. A ‘new’ solution to the Synoptic Problem, perhaps especially one presented via internet videos, could not possibly be correct. After all, generations of great minds had been applied to this classic conundrum and, surely, they had covered off every option a thousand times. Having endured the ongoing fire of scholarly inquiry one of the two mainstream solutions must, therefore, be approximately correct? Against such a background it makes sense to suggest that anyone properly schooled in the discipline should be able to see off any ‘new’ solution without difficulty. It was at this point that Evan proposed his $1,000 challenge: you have the training, you find the flaw. Ehrman declared himself tempted – but reluctant to spare the time to watch the 52-minutes of video. He was grateful, therefore, when Goodacre offered to bear this burden for him. Note that Ehrman had no reason to watch the videos; he self-confessedly didn’t have the time to do so and a scholar more than competent to dismiss them was now on the case.
It is at this point that Ehrman took (what seems to me) an extraordinary gamble. On the night before publishing Goodacre’s critique he said: ‘I find Goodacre’s argument completely convincing’. When the critique was actually published he said: ‘I consider it a compelling response.’ Scholars might occasionally use the term ‘compelling’ to endorse a view – but ‘compelling’ combined with ‘completely convincing’ takes the personal endorsement to a different level. Recommending any position to this extent (even your own!) inevitably carries a certain amount of risk since, when dealing with ancient history, we never have all the data. In this case, however, Ehrman not only ignored the usual standards of scholarly caution, he did so while operating in the dark. That is to say, he hadn’t watched the videos in question, neither had he read the peer review articles on which they were based. Swinging this big in the dark is definitely a gamble.
If the history of Synoptic Problem studies were actually as Ehrman appears to assume, then the risk involved should not, in reality, have been particularly great. The almost unbelievable reality is, however, that Synoptic Problem studies have, from the start, failed to observe the most basic principle of problem solving: consider all the options. Despite the relatively small range of theoretically viable solutions on offer, and despite the massive amounts of scholarly effort expended over more than a century, the main players have only ever considered two of the three main possibilities (among those who acknowledge Mark as the earliest of the three Synoptic Gospels). Confirmation of this is provided in my exchange with Mark Goodacre. Note the phrasing of the quotation at the centre of this discussion: "The theory that Matthew has read Luke … is rarely put forward by sensible scholars and will not be considered here" (The Synoptic Problem: A Way Through the Maze, 109). The implication is not merely that Matthew’s use of Luke has gone relatively unexplored but also that it is the scholars who perpetuate this lack of curiosity who should be regarded as the sensible ones! This attitude is so extraordinary it is hard to believe it is real. It really is real. And, that reality carries with it a potentially startling implication: it might just be that a simple solution to an infamous problem has been overlooked by generations of respected scholars - right up to the present day.
Such an implication naturally requires a reaction - a reaction that might require a bit of a gamble. And so Goodacre and Ehrman (although they advocate competing Synoptic Problem hypotheses) elect to use their considerable combined authority to repel the threat. That is why, although you might not see precisely why Goodacre’s criticism of Garrow is so devastating, you are left with the clear impression that devastating is what it must be – Professor Goodacre has found a flaw, and Professor Ehrman (without reading Garrow) finds Goodacre’s criticism 'compelling' and ‘completely convincing’. The overall message is clear: you can be sure that there is nothing to see here, the status quo deserves to remain firmly in place. But playing this card carries an uncomfortable risk. What happens if others do watch/read Garrow and others like him and discover that the status quo, thus shored up for generations, has never been defensible?
Sooner or later the discipline of Synoptic Problem studies will have to face up to the embarrassment of this whole misadventure. We’ve spent a colossal about of time, effort and money on ‘solutions’ that don’t resolve the data – without considering the possibility that an obvious third option might, after all, be more satisfying. We can face that embarrassment later or we can face it now. I say colour-up now. After all, everybody knows that to hue is Ehrman.
More on the Synoptic Problem.
I am grateful to Mark Goodacre for his engagement with my work on the Synoptic Problem. Mark has deservedly achieved the status of a trusted expert in the field of Synoptic Problem studies – to the extent that students, and scholars from other disciplines, naturally turn to him as an arbiter of the virtue, or otherwise, of new developments. Consequently, a question I have often been asked is: ‘What does Mark Goodacre think [about the possibility that Matthew used Luke]?’ Up until a few months ago there was little to offer in response (see an earlier blog post). More recently, however, Mark has provided an insight into his work in progress on this subject.
Goodacre’s main objection to my proposal, as presented in his blog post ‘Garrow’s Flaw’, is that my hypothesis explains passages where Matthew and Luke are virtually identical as the product of Matthew’s direct copying Luke ‘without distraction’. He objects that this explanation is inadequate inasmuch as sometimes such ‘distraction’ is available in the form of related material in Mark’s Gospel. My response to this main point is published here.
In the course of our discussion Mark also made a couple of seemingly more minor observations – to which I now, belatedly, turn. The first was on the subject of ‘unpicking’. I quote in full:
Garrow adds some general criticisms of the Farrer theory, including the old chestnut about "unpicking", which dates back to F. Gerald Downing. I have little to add here to the excellent critiques by Ken Olson and Eric Eve on this issue, but I will say that no critic of the Farrer theory has yet successfully isolated a single occasion where an advocate of the Farrer theory uses the term that they consistently put in quotation marks. I generally try to avoid putting things in quotation marks that are not quotations, but I realize that practices vary.
The use of quotations marks around ‘unpicking’ is not, I affirm, because this was term coined by any proponent of the Farrer Hypothesis. The quotation marks are merely intended to indicate that, in the absence of a suitable technical term, an everyday word has been used in a technical sense. The idea to be captured is essentially that of ‘the opposite of conflation’. That is to say that, under the Farrer Hypothesis, Luke is required to perform a task that, at a range of different levels of detail, is ‘the opposite of conflation’. Conflation is an operation performed by numerous author-compilers from the second century onwards. Individuals who perform this activity in reverse are a rarer breed. Thus far, Luke (as understood by the Farrer Hypothesis) appears the sole example.
I come now to what I regard as the more serious issue – albeit one that always generates a smile. Towards the end of his post Mark calls foul on my use of one particular quotation:
Garrow concludes with his favourite quotation from me, "The theory that Matthew has read Luke … is rarely put forward by sensible scholars and will not be considered here" (The Synoptic Problem: A Way Through the Maze, 109), where I was of course just describing the field at the time of writing, a description echoed by Garrow himself three years later, "“The possibility that Matthew directly depended on Luke’s Gospel has not been widely explored” (The Gospel of Matthew's Dependence on the Didache, 228 n. 10).
This paragraph highlights what seems to me a really important issue: the mismatch between the actual activity of scholars and what ordinary people assume about the activity of scholars. Admitting the risk of caricature, here is how I would characterise the latter. The ordinary person assumes that scholars are intelligent and dispassionate individuals who, for example, when faced with a puzzle with three possible solutions, will explore and evaluate all three options. I suspect that most ordinary people would be taken aback to discover, therefore, what actually happened in the case of the study of the Synoptic Problem. Very broadly speaking, the first generation of scholars decided that, of the three main options available, option 3 was superior to option 2. The following generation of students then continued in their footsteps. Then, some decades later, another scholar called the dominance of option 3 into question. This caused a string of others to rise up in support of option 2. There then followed a decades-long, and still unresolved, debate over the relative virtues of option 2 and option 3. And, all the while, option 1 was left virtually untouched. As a result, Goodacre, when writing A Way Through the Maze, felt justified in setting option 1 outside the field of debate. He ignored it on the basis that others had ignored it before him. Such reasoning is, however, a little reminiscent of how bankers excused their creation of the 2008 financial crisis: everyone around them had acted with an identical recklessness!
Ordinary people who are interested in the Synoptic Problem (if it is possible to call them that) have a right to expect that all the main options have been properly evaluated by the most respected authorities. The embarrassing truth is that, up until now, this has never been the case. It is good to know that Mark Goodacre is now working on a fuller engagement with the possibility that Matthew used Luke. In future, attempts to resolve the Synoptic Problem without reference to this possibility should be recognised for what they are: not good enough.