The question over the inspiration and (in)errancy of Scripture has been at the forefront of discussions for centuries but has probably come to the forefront the most in recent decades. At the junction of these two is the discipline of textual criticism, which is no respecter of testaments, applying critical analyses to both the first (OT) and second (NT) testaments. Textual criticism is essentially analyzing the literary data of the biblical corpus through a critical lens, testing the origin, developments, and variances throughout the material at our disposal, namely manuscripts. While textual criticism isn’t as concerned with many facets of the aforementioned, it necessarily interacts with these: when one is involved in identifying variants in the manuscript records and proposing what is the ideal or correct reading, they must be involved in multiple disciplines which are immediately bearing upon such examinations. So, understanding the cultural and linguistic backgrounds, employing intertextual reasoning, and having a solid grasp on the diachrony, grammar, syntax, and use of the languages involved are critical for one to be, well, critical. Subsequently, one must be immersed in the entire literary world which the biblical corpus is written in. In other words, we cannot just look at the basic text and differences therein but also take into consideration the form of Scripture. This leads to the similar discipline of criticism called form criticism, which analyzes how the biblical corpus and its books came into form, though this is mostly occupied with the Hebrew Bible.
We might provide two brief examples which may suffice to illustrate the nuances to be found in the development and original form of the contents in the biblical canon (as my goal is absolutely not to fully delve into this topic). In the Hebrew Bible, the Book of Isaiah has undergone significant criticism, with many simply regarding the book as altogether a forgery, particularly with respect to its apparent prophetic notions and claims which would later be fulfilled. The book is often divided into three different sections: First Isaiah (chapters 1-39); Deutero-Isaiah (chapters 40-55); and Third Isaiah (chapters 56-66), which mirror the three eras of pre-exilic, exilic, and post-exilic Israel, respectively (and more or less). Conservative positions of Isaiah—that is, that they were written by the historical figure Isaiah and prior to the Babylonian Exile—are by and large the minority. H. G. M. Williamson, for example, quips that any content which may “appear to relate to the circumstances of what we call the Neo-Babylonian period was the result of divinely inspired prophecy” has fallen out of favor, and that such scholars’ “motivation derives from a religious presupposition with regard to the nature of the Bible, making it difficult to engage with their arguments in the form of normal scholarly discourse.”[1] Such comments are a bit dismissive, to say the least; when one really studies the literature on textual and form criticism they’ll soon discover that critical voices come to the text, and work through it, with just as much, if not more, presupposition than those who presuppose divine inspiration.
For example, in Williamson’s work quoted here he argues against an “original Isaiah” on the basis of what seems to be the borrowed use of words from a later date, assuming that such language would be unfamiliar to an original eighth century BCE author of Isaiah. Williamson acknowledges that “our knowledge of ancient Hebrew remains limited and spasmodic,”[2] and admits further that “We have to be cautious not to assume that our modern philological brilliance in unearthing ancient meanings on comparative bases may not mislead us into thinking that we have at the same time stumbled across anything that would have seemed unlikely to a native speaker.”[3] Despite taking into consideration these points Williamson proceeds to, well, do exactly this. By all means a great scholar, and certainly an essay full of good points, we must often take a moment and give pause to the assumption and assertion that those presupposing biblical inspiration and those presupposing a host of other things are not both equally operating within the realm of speculation.
It is unfair that those of a critical perspective assume the role of logical and correct whereas those of an affirmative position are precluded from any meaningful discussion. For instance, the very capable and recognized biblical scholar John N. Oswalt challenged most claims against the authenticity of Isaiah on numerous grounds. By invoking points such as Isaiah being found at Qumran in a single unit, zero evidence existing for a fragmented source, and the unreliability of linguistic methods coupled with our ignorance of the Hebrew in antiquity, the evidence would, rather, hold up the conservative position. He points out that “If in fact the present composition is the work of at least three major authors and a large number of editors or redactors, it becomes very hard to explain how the book came to exist in its present form at all.”[4] I have often (and jokingly) remarked that the typical quip “The Bible is edited by 40 men over thousands of years” assumes that 40 men could agree and work together over something as divisive as religion is an absolute miracle in and of itself (!), and the logistics of bringing together whole books into a final form which yields such insignificant discrepancies that one must essentially “dig” for them is an insurmountable fact to not reckon and reason with. These things are hardly ever taken into real consideration, and, ironically, isn’t being very critical.
Taking into consideration the nuances with respect to the literary backgrounds of the day mentioned above, Oswalt writes that “What we have in the book…comes nearest to what we call an anthology, a collection of sermons, sayings, thoughts, and writings of Isaiah, all arranged according…[to a] theological scheme,” a practice and literary convention well attested to in the ancient Near East and, if considered, serves to dissuade criticisms.[5] In fact, such form would be a testimony to the historical legitimacy and authenticity of the book and motivate us to take these things into consideration with finding other clues of symmetry and synchronicity with the literary world in which these works (claim to be) are written. Though proposing a sophisticated structure that reflects heavy editorial activity in its final composition,[6] Antti Laato believes this activity to be explained by the possibility that “interpretive traditions were transmitted in scribal schools so that early interpreters of Isaiah were familiar with the compositional strategy of the Book.”[7] The main thesis of Laato is that Isaiah, as a developing and “open book,” relayed historical events throughout Israel’s history while, in composition, interpreting these various events and ultimately point to looking towards a yet-to-come eschatological reality. For him, entreating this “thematic pattern” as the starting point of transmission is to be preferred over hypothetical constructions—focusing on the message, instead, yields the true goal of Isaiah for the reader then and/or now.[8] So, between Oswalt and Laato we essentially have the divide over the origin of this anthology of sorts. Though Laato’s study is marked by thoroughness, rigidity, and charitableness, at various points one must admit that the conversation is largely speculative and, therefore, operating on the basis of conjecture. Isaiah can just as easily be written by a prophet named Isaiah than it could be argued that it wasn’t. And those who affirm the former should not be disparaged by those operating on equal presuppositional grounds.
A second example comes by way of Paul’s letters, which have various moving parts at work with respect to the form of literature the apostle wrote in. Evidence of the Pauline corpus is abundant, and we have a plethora of reasons to place him squarely in the first-century literary, historical, cultural, religious, and societal world the letters claim to be written in (of which we certainly do not have the space to even breeze over). From the form perspective, Paul very frequently follows conventional formats of rhetoric found in the handbooks, and therefore his letters follow this specific type of structure, nature, and thus have certain ornamentations within them which show he is interacting with that type of literature.[9] Most commentators have acknowledged this to some degree, though the spectrum where people land on how strictly and precisely Paul follows the handbooks (if we are to assume they, even, were as influential or established at that time) is wide, and understandably so. Paul’s rhetorical formatting and the employment of Greco-Roman rhetoric is composite, showing no exact semblance to his Greek peers. For example, Jeffrey A. D. Weima remarks, “But though Paul employs [rhetoric]…it would be wrong to conclude…that he was a rhetorician who constructed his letters according to the rulers of ancient speech,” but rather that his letters more naturally follow “the letter writing practices of his day” and such devices serve “to strengthen and enhance his purposes.”[10] Similarly, and insightfully, Christopher Forbes has provided a fascinating look into Paul’s rhetoric and comments that the apostle “creatively develops his own personal epistolary style within the patterns of known conventions”[11] and therefore “are a remarkably isolated phenomenon in their cultural context.”[12]
These last two points are important as, if Paul is essentially developing his own mega blend of various conventions in his day, paving forward his own path and leaving behind a distinct style, we are able to discern his works as not only authentic, but maintaining a style which would resemble this exact form on both micro- and macro- levels. In other words, if we can envisage an authentically Pauline work, that is distinctly Pauline in style, we may trace those intricacies and idiosyncrasies specific to him which will inevitably be present in the work. These (a) are highly unlikely to be fabrications or reconstructions by scribes, even from a scribal school (which cannot be attested to throughout any historical record) devoted to the Pauline corpus, and (b) consistency across the scribal spectrum and chronology would reveal an original work which, given the recognizable stylistic precision, would lead copyists not to deviate from. The very form of the Pauline corpus allows another vantage point from which to apply methods of textual criticism to the text of his (supposed) epistles. Since the apostle is demonstrably invested in some flavor of rhetoric, we may also begin to apply other criteria of investigation into his work, namely any shorthand theological statements; intentional rhythmic devices like assonance; discourse markers such as conjunctions; particular uses of prepositions; and idiomatic and noun phrases, to name just a few.
On the textual record we actually find incredible consistency throughout the Pauline corpus, even with attention to specific conjunctions and prepositions. A recent study of interest to this is Chris S. Steven’s work on the manuscript evidence of the Pauline corpus between the second and fifth centuries.[13] One aspect of Steven’s work is where he includes analyses and comments over the consistency of particles in Paul’s work, which are overwhelmingly those most subject to intentional or unintentional scribal corruption. In his conclusion Stevens adds that “there are no grounds for believing that the scribes were willfully or consciously changing (editing, redacting, or altering) the text in any coherent way” and that the findings of variations “indicate the text of the Pauline corpus transmitted uniformly from the earliest evidence without any explicit or subtle indicators of scribal corruption.”[14] Moreover, Stevens concludes that we have an average rate of 96.6% accuracy across the corpus,[15] a staggeringly high number for any literary corpus in history, especially something as divisive and diverse, claimed by competing interests, as the Pauline corpus. Against modern thinkers like Bart Ehrman and others, Stevens chimes in to this idea which his study demonstrates to be entirely false, i.e., that Christianity was essentially an invented ideology through the textual record when it, mostly, comes to Christological passages:
Focusing on places with christological implications reveals that Ehrman’s theories do not accurately describe the Pauline corpus. Contrary to the Bauer-Ehrman theory, every scribe displays an inconsistent willingness to adjust the text in a manner that lowers and raises Christology in a nearly equal manner. Furthermore, the theory of scribes corrupting the text toward greater conformity with the orthodox winners as Bauer and Ehrman call them does not describe the Pauline material. Scribes of the later mss. and subsequent readers or editors willingly make changes that create gnostic ambiguities and unorthodox (e.g., anti-creedal) theological readings.[16]
Not a product of speculation or theological gymnastics, but raw data reveals that the Pauline corpus, for instance, displays a consistency that casts a significant shadow of doubt on any podium suggesting significant corruption. Now while there is something to be said of various claims against the disputed Pauline letters (though we could spend a significant amount of time challenging much of these contentions as naïve, new, unfounded, and exaggerated) being genuine, such approaches should take into consideration the types of ideas we have echoed here. And again, that is not really the focus here. With these things in mind, however, we can turn to these disputed letters—both the disputed Pauline 2 Timothy and the disputed Petrine 2 Peter—and ask the question: What is inspiration? Asking the question What is inspiration? naturally, or should, evoke the question What is errancy? The two go together like peanut butter and jelly, and asking one is simultaneously asking the other. In these epistles we find two passages central to the idea and understanding of both something being inspired, and therefore how we are to construct what it means for something to be (in)errant.
All Scripture is breathed by God, and useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness (2 Timothy 3:16; my translation).
Recognizing this first, that no prophecy of Scripture comes of one’s own interpretation. For the prophecy never came by the determination of man, but rather holy men spoke as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit (2 Peter 1:20-21; my translation).
A few notes on translation, as this is important. For 2 Tim. 3:16 the Greek for “breathed by God” is θεόπνευστος, and it quite literally means “God-breathed.” A better translation of πᾶσα γραφὴ θεόπνευστος as a whole is likely “every God-breathed scripture.” For 2 Pet. 1:20-21, we have a few things worth detailing. First, the context is set upon rejecting myths (1:16) and the apostles having heard the voice from heaven (v. 17-18), grasping the prophetic word. So, Peter (here we are just going to say its Peter) writes τοῦτο πρῶτον γινώσκοντες in response to this (literally “first knowing this”). Following with the demonstrative ὅτι (“that,” “because,” “therefore”), he writes that no prophecy within Scripture comes of one’s own individual interpretation (ἰδίας ἐπιλύσεως οὐ γίνεται). In the next verse, beginning with the explanatory γὰρ (“for”), Peter employs this wordplay of sorts with φέρω (“to bring”), first with the aorist passive indicative, in that prophecy never “came” through the determination, impulse, design, will, etc. (θελήματι; quite contested to its meaning) of man, but rather (ἀλλὰ), and here he uses the present passive participle for men being “carried along” by the Holy Spirit, speaking (ἐλάλησαν, perhaps “preached” is better) accordingly. What one probably picks up on is the idea of source, reading the dative θελήματι (“determination”) and genitive πνεύματος (“spirit”). We find consistency between the Pauline and Petrine sources here as, for Paul, the Scripture is God-breathed, animated by the divine, and for Peter, rather than being sourced from man, holy men were carried along by the Spirit in prophesying.
The two passages are not the same—one can argue Peter is referring explicitly to just prophecy—but they are intertwined, and informative of each other. We could say that Paul states the fact that Scripture is inspired, and Peter describes the process by which this happens (yet, somewhat fixed in its context, though inviting further expansiveness to apply generally to the process of all inspired Scripture). Both authors are referring to the first testament, however, and this requires we understand what this idea of “God-breathed” would have meant in these authors’ world, given they are referring to an extant corpus of sacred literature which others would certainly have spoken on, or thought about at the least. Craig S. Keener has a brief but succinct (and open-sourced) article where he asks the question over inspired scripture in both Jewish and Greek worlds. Ultimately Keener concludes that Paul’s use in 2 Timothy “presumes the full inspiration and consequent full truthfulness of Scripture” and that despite ways we should “articulate inerrancy,” for 2 Timothy it “regards the OT as God’s wholly true Word.”[17] That the Scripture is fully or wholly true does little to move past the impasse of its reliability and into its actual mechanical form and transmission (from God to man, or better from the Spirit [Peter] to man). What makes it true? And how is such truth verified?
We are probably unable to answer the second question, as we are ultimately trusting inspired writers to, well, be inspired. Its verification depends on its claimed truthfulness, and we’ll leave that as an interrelated element yet also one which relies more on faith than analyses of various data (i.e., it’s a faith issue). How to analyze and envisage the form and text however, is, as Keener demonstrates, opaque. For the Greeks, Keener shows that they indeed had a form of inspiration that involved a wide spectrum from, essentially, possession to being used as a mouthpiece to experiences of ecstasy to a type of inspired thinking, and writing.[18] Their ideas of inspired literature or canonical authority was equally spectrometric, both with respect to the extent in which a single piece is measurably inspired and how authoritative different sections of said work would be considered “canonical” and, therefore, “inspired.”[19] Similar to Gentile ideas of writers being assisted by various suprahuman or “divine” beings, Keener shows that in the first testament (OT), prophecy was associated with God’s Spirit and that the association would continue to be built upon through STP literature and into the rabbinic writings.[20] Additionally, he points out that while many hesitate to affix to the STP religious world an idea of an established “canon” in the later senses of the concept, it is nevertheless clear that “Jewish people in this period recognized core inspired texts very much like a canon.”[21] Here Keener turns to the idea of inspiration, which is concurrent with canonicity (or, rather, “inspired” and “authoritative” texts), and how STP thinkers such as Philo believed that “the divine spirit possesses the prophet so that, inspired, he utters only what God wants said.”[22] By “possesses,” Keener clarifies that for Philo, a prophet was “‘totally possessed by God and His helpless instrument,’ his mind ‘snatched up in holy frenzy by a Divine possession,’ ‘higher than our reasoning, and in very deed divine, arising by no human will or purpose but by a God-inspired ecstasy.’”[23]
Kenner points out, however, that Philo seems to betray his own ideas here of total and consummative inspiration producing literature: he feels free “to rearrange biblical chronology when necessary (even rearranging the plagues) and to introduce speeches into the Pentateuch, making it more suitable for his audience.”[24] Josephus similarly, though claiming to add nothing to the Torah, adds commandments, extrabiblical events, and regards this as, quite similar to Greek minds, interpreting and translating properly the text.[25] That later Jewish minds could regard a work as “inspired” and therefore authoritative, but simultaneously accommodating of additions, revisions, and paraphrases, blurs the lines of its original form and its original intent, which are closely related but still relatively distinct aspects of the text. Such an idea recalls Michael A. Grisanti’s (also open-sourced) article which probes the question of inspired, though later (or compounding) composition with respect to the first testament (OT).[26] Essentially, Grisanti’s question is if we can regard editorial activity as “the process of inscripturation” between the original (what he calls “preliminary canonical form”) and the present (what he calls “final canonical form”) forms of texts,[27] and he entertains the potential view that basically all the hands which touched the folder before it hit the boss’s desk were inspired. An example he provides is that “Those changes were ‘maintenance changes,’ done to make a given text more intelligible to a later generation of readers” and that he contends “that these changes were made by a prophetic figure and are part of the process of inscripturation.”[28]
Grisanti seems to encroach on larger ideas and implications than just another prophetic figure leaving his mark on another’s work, though he avoids going too far down that route (if at all). Ultimately, his views are that such a perspective accords for the issues prevalent throughout the first testament (and we do have some pretty glaring issues we cannot merely sweep under the rug, though these are only “issues” when the framework is classical and conservative inerrancy) and maintains that the process of inspiration was simultaneously and collaboratively a human endeavor, through the mouths and the hands of God’s servants (that last ‘s’ is italicized). This is a pretty interesting perspective, which enlarges the realm, sphere, and reach of inspirational activity beyond the immediate, first party and into those not only involved in the endeavor but called to “add” to it. I am briefly reminded here of Jason A. Staples’ (paywalled) blog article An Inspired Text Requires Inspired Interpretation, which gently (kinda’) pushes us into the idea of (kinda’) requiring an inspired mind in order to properly interact with and understand the inspired text. In the end, maybe. But this mindset is attractive, especially if we are to apply it to, say, Laato’s ideas of a (trained? inspired? within a tradition or school?) scribal school continuing, and constructing, “preliminary canonical form[s]” (Grisanti) of Isaiah and turning it into final forms. Even if composite, perhaps God has called (inspired) people to (slightly) adapt and revise (inspired) extant literature from another (inspired) person, thus making this endeavor (by these inspired people) inspired. Maybe, even, the limitations of the original “recipient of inspiration” required God to later amend, add to, or altogether fix certain aspects of the original work. Or, maybe, God intended (and inspired) the work in a specific form then, and intends the work to be in a different specific form now (or at that later time). Who knows, but this is all possible, I believe, and does nothing to disturb a holistic view of either inspiration or inerrancy.
Given canonical composition complexities and textual transmission troubles[29] we can envision the inspirational process as one of a multilayered and cooperative endeavor commissioned to not just the original authors but also to their predecessors, whether these had a direct link to the author or were appointed by God later to put the work into a new form (or even its original form which had been changed or altered, so a “restorative revisionary activity”), a newly intended form for whatever purpose God wanted.
However, a more persuasive, for its handling of the data, satisfying, considering the data, and cogent, to account for all of the above, view is that we are dealing with varying levels of human inconsistency and error which differ in form, appearance, and volume based on the type of work and when and/or where it was written. These issues are never significant, being mostly relegated to misspellings, haplography, inflectional variations, and attempted corrections to ideas which were regarded as themselves erroneous (both “doctrinally” and literally, i.e. them attempting to correct an apparent misspelling!), potentially corrupted, or some other issue. When one really takes a step back, with the human imperfection factor at play, there’s hardly an issue. I think the overwhelming tendency for copyists, critical editions, translators, and interpreters to prefer the more difficult reading in almost any variant situation is a testament to the objectivity and honesty of textual criticism. And there are plenty of resources available to show how this is, indeed, a trustworthy and accurate estimation of the situation.[30] Incorporating an element of human error into the canon’s composition does not delegitimize the bible’s authenticity—rather, it actually is what should be expected of a work which claims to be of divine origin but also claims to be written by man. This general idea, of Scripture being written by man but breathed through God, is picked up as a trope in similitude to God breathing into man to be His image bearers on Earth and essentially do His bidding (Gen. 2:7), tilling and caring for the world. In a sense, the Scripture as written by man is the dust that God breathes life into, animating it into what it is. One also wonders if the theme of the first copy of the Decalogue being written by God’s own “Finger” and the second copy by Moses is at play here.
There remains an obvious characterization of the Scripture as authoritative, and such authority can only come from God. Scripture is used as God’s medium of expression, and in it all of His truth contained. For example, in Galatians, Scripture is said to both foresee (προοράω) God’s saving of Gentiles by faith (3:8) and it is additionally personified as enclosing (συγκλείω) all under sin (3:22). This distances the Scripture, perhaps, from being merely man’s own work and something that is an “extension” of God. But the concurrent activity of man and God fits within this general theme in the story: just as God animated the prophets to speak the truth that He would give them, so is Scripture much the same way. One of the clearest examples is found in 2 Samuel 23:2, where David says that “The Spirit of the Lord speaks by me; His Word is on my tongue.” Taking David as the psalmist, we can see such an idea spell itself out: David is not being “downloaded” with information from the Spirit, but, in a rhythmic motion and sense, God is filling him with spiritual “music” to hear and convey through his psalms. Though many have seen the psalms as later compositions, being constructed and redacted for various reasons,[31] if the traditional view of conservative inspiration is taken, David is being filled with prophetic disclosures and revelations while praising God liturgically in the form of music. Scripture is like a song man makes on his instrument, but the rhythm, like wind, gently blows upon the composer to produce a certain sound, emphasize certain notes, etc.
So, how does God do this “inspiring?” How does “inspiration” come? The answer to that question will likely never be known, but we can speculate. A typical position is that inspiration would have come verbally, or it would at least come in some similar way, much like a thought or idea or an impulse within the writer that would unmistakably guide him in a certain direction. I am not eager here to entertain every opinion, as valuable as they may be, as that is not the goal here. Evan A. Luebbehusen, however, provides a very succinct overview following Ryrie, and provides specific points of my own interest:
The simple answer is that the authors of Scripture were inspired verbally. But what does that mean? Ryrie’s definition of verbal inspiration is this: “God superintended human authors of the Bible so that they composed and recorded without error His message to mankind in the words of their original writings.” Four points of explanation are necessary in order to understand this definition. First, God’s superintendence was at times more direct and at other times less direct, but in either case God protected and shielded the writers from error, always directing them to write the words he wanted. Second, the writers were not “passive stenographers,” but were real men who had a hand in the writing. Third, the Scriptures are inerrant, that is without error. Fourth, the only words that were inspired are those in biblical Autographs. This does not mean that the church universal of 2021 does not possess God’s word, only that the inspiration from God to the author does not apply to translations and copies of the Bible.
In addition, it should be noted that verbal inspiration extends to the choice of words used in writing. This is not to be confused with dictation, where the authors functioned like a stenographer or scribe, merely writing down the words as God spoke them. While verbal inspiration may appear to be similar to dictation because of the specificity of inspiration, it is not the same. Erickson explains the difference between verbal inspiration and dictation like this: “By creating the thought and stimulating the understanding of the Scripture writer, the Spirit will lead him in effect to use one particular word rather than any other.” This is verbal inspiration.[32]
I believe a possible way to understand inspiration is to understand the mutual effort of man and the Spirit in the writing process, which Luebbehusen emphasizes. First, he notes that God’s “superintendence,” intended for the sake of preventing error, would vary on the level of directness. I think this is important. Second, the biblical authors were not “passive stenographers,” something which would (a) deeply trouble a defense against when there are actual issues in the continuing scribal diachrony of our current manuscripts (a note: would God not equally prevent scribes from error than those He originally inspired?) and, more importantly, (b) nullifies and voids any human element from the writing of the Scripture, particularly where a biblical author is essentially “speaking for himself.” Third, his claim that the inspired words are found in the Autographs (the actual originals) legitimizes textual criticism and allows the scholarly pursuit of an original, which may even further incorporate man in the pursuit (i.e., inspiring him or her?). Fourth, that the inspired words are to be found not only (or not even) in our manuscript data further insulates erroneous ideas of insisting the Scripture be understood as plainly as reading a book, placing us squarely back in the position of having to seek out the truth, and always depend on God to lead us into it. For some, letting go of their suppositions and recognizing that a scribe may have slightly adjusted something and we may be following along in their heritage. For others, that learning the biblical languages, cultures, and doing one’s own due diligence is incumbent upon any true student of the Scriptures.
The fifth point here is my favorite, which is that “verbal inspiration extends to the choice of words used in writing.” Or, being lead “to use one particular word rather than another” (Erickson). I think we are suited to extend this beyond just words and into the use of certain themes, motifs, concepts, allegories, examples, and the list goes in. In other words, if Matthew decides to model his gospel off of a pesher structure,[33] this is a compositional or formative inspirational decision provided by the Spirit. Or, not just on words but wordplay, Matthew could have been led by the Spirit (so, inspired) to connect Jesus’s living in Nazareth to wordplay associated with potentially messianic ideas in the first testament (OT).[34] These types of things—words, wordplay, and the semantic linking of other themes relevant or insightful to the given pericope or passage—are what yields barrels of inks of studies, but nobody really stops to ask: “Wow, it is a bit crazy that we are spending months and months analyzing these connections and intertextual links that, apparently, some random fisherman wrote, or some community wrote together to further this new faith.” We couldn’t write something like Scripture even if we banded together and gave it our all. The very beauty and investigable nature of Scripture defies our reason and clearly presents itself as something almost lowered to us from heaven itself. The irony of scholars spending their whole lives studying it yet denying its legitimacy is palpable. Maybe—just maybe—it’s true. And maybe—just maybe—what it says is true. I’ve always said that one of the most remarkable aspects of Scripture is that we can commit tens of thousands of souls to dedicate thousands of hours to research independently and communally, produce endless reels of studies, and we’re not even past base camp of the mountain. All we can do is look up, in awe and wonder, and take it all (or as much as we can) in. Some illiterate (apparently) commonfolk didn’t do all of “this.” Not without God’s Hand in it.
So, what are we to make of inspiration—both the nature and process of it? That I don’t think we ever will know. Perhaps a subtle nudge; a passing wind; a deposited thought; a tickle in the ear. We cannot know, as we’ve never experienced it (or maybe we have, but in a different way and for a different goal). I don’t have the answer to that, nor do I need to. But for the process itself, I think we would do best by calling the complementary procedure of writing inspired Scripture what I have termed synchronistic authorial blending. By this I mean synchronistic, in the sense that man and God are put into synchronized writing, inspiration (as in being “inspired” or “motivated” to write something, and how to write it), motives, and goals. While John intends to present Jesus’s life with a particular prologue-infused beginning and thematic structuring, this is what God had intended. As Paul intends to argue the book of Romans the way he does, God had intended for that. In both occasions, God “nudged” the authors towards that point. It is almost unnecessary for us to uncover (or attempt to) how He did so. But. Not only is the thematic retelling (gospels) of the events synchronized between God and the authors, but the literal timeline and narrative is also synchronized. Synchronism is occupied with the way in which something is arranged for the sake of depicting unison, significance, and datable analysis while also having use in the perfect harmony of sound and musical instruments: a “song” man and God are composing, orchestrating together (or, God orchestrating it while man plays it as led). By authorial blending, I mean that the two authors (man and the Spirit) are put into a blended space, inspiring and being inspired, where one does not predominate over the other, but neither is either voice muted out whatsoever. The two work, well, in synchrony. In sync.
This approach or idea being adopted, we may easily, and honestly (not attempting to hoodwink critics or insulate ourselves against criticism), provide a rational and biblically accurate perspective of inspiration, and thus the issues with (in)errancy. No part of Scripture is errant or inerrant: it is perfectly trustworthy, but inevitably problematic; it is imperfectly errant, yet perfectly inerrant. Because it has man as its author, and not just God. I also think this idea—besides the aspects of textual criticism—accords with God’s plans in almost all things. While God can simply “download” the Scripture into its authors (and us too!), or He can Joseph Smith us with some golden tablets, He prefers to not only work through man to proclaim His truth to the world in written form (as He has always done in verbal and nonverbal form every single day since creating man) but also create an entire discipline of scribes made for the Kingdom of Heaven (hopefully) that get to do their own part in this exegetical quarry we call biblical studies. God working with man, even with the inevitable imperfections thereof, is kind of God’s status quo. Just as we are imperfect but nevertheless still epistles of God’s work (cf. 2 Cor. 3:2-3), so is Scripture going to be. But this isn’t to say Scripture is hopelessly lost to time, corruption, and even uninspired scribes. In the end, 98% of Scripture is verifiably accurate. And those are pretty good numbers. Better than any other literary collection or document in the entirety of human history, all of which have hardly a fraction of the pool Scripture has. Scripture is trustworthy: it is the trustworthy and full truth of God, handed down by God’s imperfect steward, man.
[1] H. G. M. Williamson, “The Setting of Deutero-Isaiah: Some Linguistic Considerations.” Pages 253–267 in Exile and Return: The Babylonian Context. BZW 478. Edited by Jonathan Stökl and Caroline Waerzeggers. (Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 2015).
[2] “The Setting of Deutero-Isaiah,” 257.
[3] “The Setting of Deutero-Isaiah,” 258.
[4] John N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah: Chapters 1-39. NICOT (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1989), 28.
[5] Oswalt, Isaiah, 33.
[6] Antti Laato, Message and Composition of the Book of Isaiah: An Interpretation in the Light of Jewish Reception History. DCL 87 (Boston/Berlin: De Gruyter, 2022), 262–271.
[7] Laato, Message and Composition, 122.
[8] Laato, Message and Composition, 280.
[9] If one is interested in investigating the similarities between Pauline epistolary style and Greco-Roman rhetoric, there are countless studies. I would recommend Timothy A. Brookins, Ancient Rhetoric and the Style of Paul’s Letters (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2022), as well as, if accessible, Stanley E. Porter and Bryan R. Dyer, eds., Paul and Ancient Rhetoric: Theory and Practice in the Hellenistic Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016) and Peter Lampe and J. Paul Sampley, eds., Paul and Rhetoric (London: T&T Clark, 2019).
[10] Jeffrey A. D. Weima, Paul the Ancient Letter Writer: An Introduction to Epistolary Analysis (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2016).
[11] Christopher Forbes, “Ancient Rhetoric and Ancient Letters: Models for Reading Paul, and their Limits,” in Sampley and Lampe, Paul and Rhetoric, 143.
[12] Forbes, “Ancient Rhetoric and Ancient Letters,” 159.
[13] Chris S. Stevens, History of the Pauline Corpus in Texts, Transmissions, and Trajectories: A Textual Analysis of Manuscripts from the Second to the Fifth Century. TENTS 14 (Leiden: Brill, 2020).
[14] Stevens, History of the Pauline Corpus, 213.
[15] Stevens, History of the Pauline Corpus, ibid. See also chapter six as a whole and appendix one.
[16] Stevens, History of the Pauline Corpus, 214.
[17] Craig S. Keener, “Greek versus Jewish Conceptions of Inspiration and 2 Timothy 3:16.” JETS 63.2 (2020): 217-231, 231.
[18] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 221-222
[19] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 223-224.
[20] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 225.
[21] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 226.
[22] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 227.
[23] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 228.
[24] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 229.
[25] Keener, “Conceptions of Inspiration,” 229-230.
[26] Michael A. Grisanti, “Inspiration, Inerrancy, and the OT Canon: The Place of Textual Updating in an Inerrant View of Scripture.” JETS 44.4 (2001): 577-598.
[27] Grisanti, “Inspiration, Inerrancy, and the OT Canon,” 581.
[28] Grisanti, “Inspiration, Inerrancy, and the OT Canon,” 588.
[29] That felt inspired.
[30] In no particular order, and just the most recent and accessible works, see Peter J. Williams, Can We Trust the Gospels? (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2018); Elijah Hixson and Peter J. Gurry, Myths and Mistakes in New Testament Textual Criticism (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2019); John D. Meade and Peter J. Gurry, Scribes and Scripture: The Amazing Story of How We Got the Bible (Wheaton, Il: Crossway, 2022). See also Michael J. Kruger, Canon Revisited Establishing the Origins and Authority of the New Testament Books (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012); idem., The Question of Canon: Challenging the Status Quo in the New Testament Debate (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2013). Worth mentioning are Charles E. Hill and Michael J. Kruger, eds., The Early Text of the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014) and a favorite of mine, though mainly preoccupied with dating, Jonathan Bernier, Rethinking the Dates of the New Testament: The Evidence for Early Composition (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2022). Of course, if we are here expanding beyond textual criticism, we cannot go without mentioning one of the best works written on NT origin and composition: Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony. Second Edition (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017).
[31] See David C. Mitchell, The Message of the Psalter: An Eschatological Programme in the Book of Psalms. JSOTSup 252 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997); Adam D. Hensley, Covenant Relationships and the Editing of the Hebrew Psalter. LHBOTS 666 (London: T&T Clark, 2019).
[32] Evan A. Luebbehusen, “The Divine Inspiration of Scripture.” Diligence 8.5 (2021): 1-22; 17-18.
[33] James E. Patrick, “Matthew’s ‘Pesher’ Gospel Structured Around Ten Messianic Citations of Isaiah.” JTS 61.1 (2010): 43-81.
[34] Jared M. August, “‘He Shall Be Called a Nazarene’: The Non-Citation of Matthew 2:23.” TynBul 69.1 (2018): 63-74.