Why Gospel Differences? A Book Review of Mike Licona's Jesus, Contradicted

Every so often, a text is published that shakes the very foundations of biblical scholarship. Michael Licona’s book Jesus, Contradicted: Why the Gospels Tell the Same Story Differently (Zondervan, 2024) is such a work in the first quarter of the twenty-first century. After decades, yea centuries, of critical biblical scholars attempting to explain the differences in the Gospels, the theological world finally has a viable option in Licona’s work. Licona breathes life into the long dead-end pursuit to understanding the differences in the Gospels primarily by approaching the topic as a historian. This is not a self-designation by Licona. Unlike many biblical and textual scholars, Licona is—in fact—a historian. He has studied historical research methods during his doctoral work and has done his research as a historian. Too many biblical scholars claim to be historians with no more than an ounce of training (and sometimes none) in historical methodology, which is nothing short of malpractice and at worst deception. But Licona is the real deal, and this makes his work one of authority and integrity. It is something worth paying attention to.

Too many biblical scholars claim to be historians with no more than an ounce of training (and sometimes none) in historical methodology, which is nothing short of malpractice and at worst deception.

Licona’s thesis is that the Gospel differences are most likely due to compositional devices employed by first century biographers. Of course, there is a required foundation to be laid to support this thesis, namely, that the Synoptics are in fact ancient biographical literature. That this is the case, Licona shows by comparing features of ancient biographies with those of the Synoptics, in particular, the Gospel of Mark. Although this discussion is somewhat brief, if the reader desires a more thorough treatment, Licona’s prior scholarly work,

Why Are There Differences in the Gospels? What We Can Learn from Ancient Biography?

(Oxford University Press, 2017), is a handy tome. The text then turns to establishing the main thesis. Through several chapters, Licona investigates how ancient biographies were written and shows how this methodology was employed. Relying mostly on Theon (an ancient Greek grammarian and teacher), he rehearses what ancient biographers considered to be appropriate historical methodology. Some of the methods, known as compositional devices, included paraphrasing (which includes changing syntax, adding, subtracting, and substituting), making a statement a question, and elaborating for clarification. Even historical events may be arranged to explain or clarify a specific emphasis of an author. All these are appropriate in every form of writing according to Theon, including writing history. Then, paying particular attention to Plutarch, Licona demonstrates how these devices and others were used in ancient biography. The focus upon Plutarch here is especially helpful, considering he lived about the same time as the synoptic authors and wrote biographies himself. Moreover, forty-eight of his biographies are extant, and they report the same historical accounts

differently

. Thus, by comparing how Plutarch recounts historical events differently by using compositional devices, Licona is able to show that the synoptics do so similarly. These devices include compression, displacement, transferal, conflation, simplification, and literary spotlighting. Licona’s thesis to this point appears simple, obvious, and reasonable. One could wonder why no one investigating the reason for Gospel differences has ever recognized or proffered such an explanation. Why have biblical scholars been chasing after philosophical, psychological, and other non-historical resolutions as a dog chases its tail? The simplicity of Licona’s thesis is elegant and adds more than a modicum of persuasion. The simplest explanation (as in science) is often the correct one. And it is more than reasonable: ancient biographers using ancient biographical methods. It fits like hand in glove. One could wonder if the Enlightenment’s turn to epistemology is a (and not necessarily

the

) culprit. As the Age of Reason fomented religious disbelief, Christian theologians were on the ropes to defend Scripture. The Modernists demanded certitude (while generally assuming naturalism)—including no contradictions since reason dictated as much—in order for a claim to be established as knowledge. And so some Christian apologists responded in kind. They offered what was probably considered the most reasonable in such an environment: the Gospel differences were due to different authorial intent, the audiences to whom they were written, and the authors’ varying emphases. As the proverbial illustration goes: it was like having four different witnesses to an automobile accident. Each witness, although seeing different things, nonetheless provided exactly what happened. The Gospel differences would disappear once all the facts were known. In short, the synoptics (even the Gospel of John) could all be

harmonized

. No contradictions would therefore exist. And thus, eventually, the definitive statement on the nature of Scripture, the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy (or CSBI), was birthed in response to Modernism’s attack. But can or should the Gospels be harmonized to resolve the surface contradictions (or differences) in the biblical text? What if compositional devices are the reason for the differences (or contradictions) rather than mere differences in audience, purpose, and so on? Licona believes the probability is relatively high that this is the case (although he does not entirely dismiss the use of harmonization). He provides good evidence for this claim as he discusses several examples of these devices used in the synoptics. Again, Licona’s former work

Why Are There Differences in the Gospels?

is much more thorough, but the reader gets a good introductory course here, and some of the examples get a bit involved. Licona’s case, however, is persuasive if not convincing. The methodology of ancient biographies is eerily similar to the synoptics. How one could doubt this is uncanny. The burden of proof lies with the one who objects to Licona’s evidence and argument.

But can or should the Gospels be harmonized to resolve the surface contradictions (or differences) in the biblical text? What if compositional devices are the reason for the differences (or contradictions) rather than mere differences in audience, purpose, and so on?

In the final chapters of the text, it would not be an understatement to say that Licona challenges some parts of the evangelical community. The reason why is because this is where he deals with significant implications of his thesis, namely, how evangelicals think about inspiration and inerrancy. If the synoptic writers used these compositional devices, then inspiration and inerrancy as typically understood in evangelicalism (the CSBI) will need to be modified. The reason why is because compositional devices can lead to what appear to be contradictory accounts. In fact, the implication is much stronger: there

are

contradictory accounts. But if this is true, then there are errors (at least in the Modernist sense) in the biblical text. And the CSBI clearly states that no errors exist within the original manuscripts (or, autographs). Remember the traditional evangelical response to the Modernist claim of errors in the Bible due to the contradictory accounts: when all the facts are known, the biblical accounts can be harmonized. This explains the differences, and therefore no errors exist. But what if giving a thoroughly point-by-point corresponding account of history of the life and teachings of Jesus was not the authorial intent of the synoptic authors? What if this is

our

(Modernist) understanding of authorial intent of the synoptics? What if, in maintaining the biographical method of first century historians, the synoptic authors wrote history by not merely providing historical “data points,” but by

explicating

the life and teachings of Jesus through spotlighting, subtraction, and the like? If this is indeed the case, then it is not so much the specific words in the Bible that are significant, but rather the meaning (Licona would say “message”) of the text. And if the meaning, or message, of the text is the most significant, then Licona contends that our present Bible, not just the autographs, may be referred to as inspired and inerrant. A challenging and bold claim for sure! Some evangelicals might contend that this is a problem. For one, some would say it sounds like compositional devices change the facts of

what really occurred

. But is not this the very point at issue? Why should we demand that contemporary historiography’s methods be the same as ancient historiography? Would this not be a strange kind of “eisegesis?” Should we not, as Christians, be interested in how the authors themselves wrote and what

they

intended? One of the first rules of hermeneutics is the discernment of authorial intent. To throw out even the possibility of compositional devices shows a total lack of concern for authorial intent and ascertaining the true meaning of the text. If the synoptic authors used compositional devices, which seems to be the case, then we would be obligated to understand the text through these methods and thereby come to a better understanding of its meaning. It would enlighten—illuminate—rather than darken the text. Second, some may believe that the use of compositional devices requires that the authors themselves had some kind of moral or finite defect that introduced errors into the text. This, however, is not a necessary conclusion. One could easily argue, for example, that the devices that change the location of certain events (such as the healing of Bartimaeus) are used to explain certain events more clearly (or for some other reason). Such a practice does not necessitate a sinister motive or defect on the part of the synoptic author. Quite the contrary. If the author knew he was using such methods (which seems to be the case) to help the reader and hearer understand Jesus and his ministry better, the author ought to be commended. So, do errors or contradictions exist in the text? Only when the synoptics are held to a Modernist understanding of what a contradiction is. “Modernist understanding” here should not be understood as “liberal.” Rather, it means how the modern world (whether one is a conservative, liberal, or neither in his view of Scripture) understands what a contradiction is. The Modernist assumption is that a contradiction is an error as the laws of logic demand (A cannot be B and -B at the same time and in the same sense). For example, either Jesus heals Bartimaeus on the way into Jericho or he did it when leaving Jericho. He could not have done both, and so this is a contradiction as far as rote logical and modernistic definitions go.

So, do errors or contradictions exist in the text? Only when the synoptics are held to a Modernist understanding of what a contradiction is.

However—and this is very important—the use of compositional devices does not demand to be understood as introducing contradictions or errors

even when they may meet the logical and Modernist definition of a contradiction

. Why is this? This sounds preposterous. The reason why is because the author is not intending to provide a contemporary biographical account of every detail of Jesus’ life in a one-to-one correspondence of what really happened. Ancient biographers are using compositional methods to accentuate, explain, or bring out the actual true meaning of an event or some other event that may be related to the original event being described. In short, ancient biographers did not consider the compositional devices as “making contradictions” any more than we would consider using metaphors to be making errors and contradictions. The biblical authors were concerned about

explaining

the meaning of events and the persons involved with them. The authorial intent of the synoptic authors was to provide us with the

meaning

of Jesus’ words and works, and not only or always with what really occurred (although it does include this). What does it mean, then, for Scripture to be inspired and inerrant in light of Licona’s thesis? It means that the Gospel differences will sometimes fit the textbook definition of a contradiction (just like using metaphors and hyperboles would). This does not mean that Scripture has errors or is not inspired. It means that the contradictions are present because compositional devices have been used by the authors to elucidate the meaning of words and events that in fact occurred in history or simply to make for a better flowing narrative. This is just the nature of any type of literary device, whether compositional or the usual metaphors with which we are all familiar. Using hyperbole changes the facts of history, but it is used to explain the impact or significance of the event. It is not meant to mislead or introduce an “error.” No one would even attribute lies and errors to a person who made a “long story short.” In fact, many would be thankful in some cases! Would we like to have the actual details of every work and event that occurred during Jesus’ ministry? Of course! But we cannot demand Scripture to be what we desire it to be. We the Church must, as some theologians (e.g., Michael Horton) would say, receive the biblical text as the covenant treaty as it has been given to us. God providentially directed, i.e., inspired, the text. He is still the ultimate author of it. To interpret it better and discern its actual meaning, we need to understand how God used the human conventions of language. And Licona has accomplished this for the evangelical world. It is conceivable that Licona’s work will benefit many generations of scholars and Christians to come. Evidently, it has already had this impact as seen through some of the stories related by Licona sprinkled throughout the book. It has helped students avoid unnecessarily accepting the modernist criticisms of the verity of Scripture and then give up their faith. Licona’s historical thesis is a more probable solution to the question of Gospel differences than any non-historical hypothesis that has been offered since the days of Schleiermacher. If it were in my power, I would require this text and his more academic work on the same topic in every hermeneutics class. Indeed, I would even require it for apologetic courses and even for pastors and teachers in the church. The impact of Licona’s work ought to be more powerful than a wave; it ought to be a tsunami. And when the tsunami subsides, we ought to take a deep breath and be thankful that we finally have a historical analysis of the Gospel differences sitting on our shelves rather than modern and postmodern hubbub that leads to nowhere.