What It’s About

In a previous post I reviewed New Testament scholar Michael R. Licona’s book, Why Are There Differences in the Gospels?, in which he makes the case that many differences between the four Christian Gospels can be accounted for by their authors’ use of certain compositional conventions, or devices, common to the genre of ancient Greco-Roman biography. In making his case, Licona follows and agrees with the work of a number of other scholars who share a similar understanding of the Gospels as being part of, or at least closely related to, the genre of ancient Greco-Roman biography, and therefore influenced by its conventions. In The Mirror or the Mask, analytic philosopher Lydia McGrew argues against this view on several counts and, in the process, makes her own case for an alternate approach to understanding the composition of the Gospels and explaining their differences.¹Lydia McGrew, The Mirror or the Mask: Liberating the Gospels from Literary Devices (Tampa: DeWard Publishing Company Ltd., 2019). McGrew critically analyzes the evidence and reasoning behind the literary device view and contends both that it is unlikely the Gospel authors were significantly influenced by Greco-Roman literary conventions and that, even if they were, it is unlikely that many of the types of literary devices identified and cited by the scholars who hold this view were truly as widely accepted and influential within that genre as those scholars suggest. She is especially concerned with arguing against “fictionalizing literary devices,” which allegedly gave ancient authors license to knowingly alter facts, and she instead argues for “a commonsense model of the Gospels as honest historical reportage, based on eyewitness testimony”²vii. — a view she calls “the reportage model.”³See especially Chapter X, section 1, 229-237. 

McGrew makes clear from the start that her project is motivated by legitimate concerns over the serious, far-reaching consequences of the literary device theory held by Licona and other New Testament scholars.⁴Throughout the book, McGrew spends the greatest amount of ink addressing the views of Evangelical Christian scholars, including Michael Licona, Craig A. Evans, and Craig Keener. She gives special focus to Licona because he “has worked hard to lay out the literary device view clearly, together with a lengthy and explicit case for it,” 9. She carefully considers the general implications of this theory and cites specific Gospel passages which have been problematized in light of it to show that it draws into question the historical reliability of the Gospels, which in turn draws into question the theological import of their testimony. A key point here is that, although many of the editorial or redactive changes allegedly made to historical events by the Gospel authors concern seemingly peripheral or unimportant details, these details are sometimes connected to other parts of the narrative that must by extension also be drawn into question. Furthermore, to concede that a given Gospel author felt licensed to change facts in this way, even with respect to small details, draws into question the general reliability of that author as a witness to true history.⁵On this point, in discussing the question of inerrancy, McGrew makes an illuminating analogy to a witness on a witness stand who feels licensed to alter the facts in their own testimony. See 56-58. We would consider such a witness unreliable even in comparison to a witness who is sincere and straightforward in their testimony but prone to good-faith errors. In the same way, McGrew suggests, we should not try to hold to a nominally inerrantist position on the Gospels by recasting errors as literary devices. To view the Gospels in this way “is epistemically and conceptually incompatible with any ‘inerrancy’ worth the name” 58. Thus, if literary device theory is true, “we are confronted with a mask, which shows us the face of the historical Jesus only as the artistic author chooses to make the mask sufficiently like the face beneath.”⁶16.

There are quite a few different types of literary devices identified by scholars, and McGrew does not take issue with all of them in all cases.⁷For example, she takes no issue with literary “spotlighting,” wherein an author focuses on one or more people to the extent that they neglect to describe or even mention others present for the same events. McGrew acknowledges that this happens frequently and points out that it is “neither literary, nor a device, nor particularly ancient, nor fictionalizing,” 38. Rather, her main concern and focus is with those that involve authors knowingly altering facts within their narratives. As she defines them, such “fictionalizing literary devices” include three criteria: 

1. What is presented in a seemingly realistic fashion in the work is actually contrary to fact. The real facts have been altered . . . 
2. The alteration of fact was made by the author deliberately . . . 
3. The alteration of fact is invisible to the audience within that work itself.⁸10-11.

She presents quotations from several of the scholars in question to show that their own claims about the literary devices used in the Gospels do indeed appear to match these criteria. Having established this as her focus, she begins her critique. 

The first of McGrew’s objections to literary device theory is that, from the start, it is based upon a dubious underlying assumption, namely that the Gospels belong in any meaningful sense to the genre of ancient Greco-Roman biography. She maintains this assumption is dubious because it stands on rather thin evidence and because there is evidence to the contrary. The thin nature of the evidence for placing the Gospels in this genre stems from the fact that it is largely inferred from a shared resemblance in form between the Gospel narratives and works of Greco-Roman biography. McGrew points out, first of all, that the shared resemblances are not so peculiar or striking as to immediately suggest the Gospels were influenced by this genre. Rather, they could all be explained by mere accident or coincidence, that is, they could happen to match closely certain features of Greco-Roman biography without the authors ever having been consciously aware of this or intending it. Furthermore, McGrew argues, it is not at all clear based on the available evidence that any of the Gospel authors, being Palestinian Jews, would have likely been significantly influenced by Greco-Roman biography, whether through reading the genre or being trained in its conventions.⁹The possible exception to this is the author of Luke, who McGrew acknowledges is the most likely to have been acquainted with Greco Roman biography. However, she contends that, even in the case of Luke, it is not clear that any influence the author may have received led him to follow the sort of fictionalizing literary conventions with which she is concerned. If anything, it may rather have encouraged a commitment to historical veracity. See more on this below.

But, suppose the Gospels were a part of, or somehow influenced by, Greco-Roman biography. McGrew argues that, even in this case, it is not likely that such influence led to the use by the Gospel authors of many of the types of literary devices cited by modern theorists. It is here that she mounts a detailed cross-examination of the evidence for literary device theory and finds numerous problems. The root of the problems is that theorists have built too much, too quickly, on what, upon closer inspection, end up being rather shaky grounds. She analyzes closely the sources most often cited in support of literary device theory and shows that these sources have sometimes been misunderstood, misinterpreted, and/or misapplied. 

For example, she takes pains to show that collections of ancient Greek writing exercises, or Progymnasmata, do not appear to contain exercises in the actual writing of history or biography specifically, nor were they meant to give students direction in how to construct these types of writings responsibly. Therefore, these do not serve as good evidence in support of the idea that fictionalizing literary devices were accepted in those genres.¹⁰At one point, McGrew clarifies her point thus: “I am not saying that Theon [a well-known author of a collection of Progymnasmata, heavily referenced by Licona in support of literary device theory] advocated scrupulous historical accuracy in writing putatively historical work. I am saying that his exercises simply are not about that subject and that it is not possible to tell from the exercises what he thought about that subject,” 153.

Similarly, she quotes testimony from numerous ancient Greek and Roman writers to show that their own (at least, purported) understandings of truth and commitments to historical veracity are much closer to modern standards than theorists have suggested. The fact that certain statements from some of these very same authors are cited by modern theorists in support of fictionalizing literary devices is the result of misreading those statements in some way and/or going too far in extrapolating theories about just how much creative license the authors believed themselves to have. Related to this point, McGrew makes several crucial distinctions that introduce some much-needed nuance into the complex issues under consideration.¹¹Three examples of such crucial distinctions are as follows: (1) McGrew distinguishes “achronological displacement” — relaying events in no particular order, without attention to chronology — from “dyschronological displacement” — relaying events out of true order, with explicit or implied false chronology. See especially p.18-21. (2) McGrew distinguishes the question of the purpose of a genre such as history or biography from the methods and conventions used in its writing. (On this point she argues against suggestions that just because the purpose of ancient biography might have been to paint a particular portrait of an historical figure, ancient biographers would have felt licensed to alter facts in serving this purpose.) See especially p.87-92. (3) Finally, McGrew follows ancient authors in distinguishing the writing of formal set-piece speeches (which are more likely to be embellished) and the writing of ordinary speech or dialogue and other historical events. See especially p.125-26. 

Finally, supposing that, despite the points above, one is still inclined to look for fictionalizing literary devices to explain differences between historical accounts, McGrew makes the case that, in terms of probability, this requires an extremely high burden of proof. Her argument here rests on the principle of “Occam’s Razor,” which states that “all else being equal, simpler explanations are to be preferred over more complex explanations.”¹²175. In this case McGrew suggests the use of a fictionalizing literary device in crafting part of a narrative is often much more complex an explanation for a difference between accounts — and therefore much less likely to be true — than normal variation in witness testimony or simple error. Too often literary device theorists tend to ignore or gloss over such simpler explanations in the interest of following their own current theories instead. 

But, where does this leave us? If the numerous differences between the Gospel narratives aren’t due to the creative license of the authors, then how can we account for all of them? 

This question underlies what we might call the second half of McGrew’s argument, because she doesn’t just argue against literary device theory; she also argues for an alternate theory concerning Gospel differences, one based on a model of the Gospels as “ordinary historical reportage.”¹³viii. 

In this sense, the gospels authors can be called “artless;” that is, they are “truthful in a plain and unvarnished sense.”¹⁵252. This is not to say that the Gospel authors do not employ a certain amount of artistry in their writing styles, word choices, and emphases. However, these are all in service to, rather than at the expense of, the primary goal of historical accuracy. 

In support of the reportage model, McGrew offers a number of arguments that mostly depend on evidence from the Gospel texts themselves. Foremost among these arguments is an appeal to what she calls “undesigned coincidences.” ¹⁶255. See generally Chapter XI, p. 255-299. These are incidental pieces of evidence in some account(s), often concerning minor details, that happen to corroborate evidence in some other account(s), thereby serving to confirm the historicity of both/all accounts.¹⁷Here, McGrew is drawing on her own previous work in Hidden in Plain View: Undesigned Coincidences in the Gospels and Acts together with the work of others in Apologetics and New Testament Studies. The idea is that these matching pieces of evidence appear by all indications to be unintentionally related, and therefore, uncontrived, such that they indicate both accounts were likely unembellished reports of the same true event. 

In addition to the evidence of undesigned coincidences, McGrew discusses several other types of evidence present in the Gospels that similarly seem to support the reportage model. These include (1) allusions or references to events or details that are left without elaboration or explanation in the Gospels themselves,¹⁸For example, Jesus’s unexplained reference to James and John as the “Sons of the Thunder” in Mark 3:17 (301-302) or Jesus’s unexplained reference to “eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell” In Luke 13:4 (303). (2) details included in the text that seem to be entirely incidental and unnecessary to any narrative or theological point,¹⁹Examples of these include everything from observations about the scenery or circumstances surrounding an event to specific names provided for minor actors to very precise details of how events took place. As an example of this last type, in the story of the calming of the storm, Mark 4:38 mentions not just that Jesus was asleep, but that he was “in the stern, asleep on the cushion” (308-309). (3) recognizable characteristics or personality traits of particular historical persons that seem consistent within and between each of the Gospels,²⁰On this point, McGrew focuses on the example of the apostle Peter, suggesting that he has an “impulsive, emotional, and at times boastful nature” (321) and that this can be consistently observed in his portrayal in all four Gospels, (321-25). and (4) the presence of variations between accounts of the same event that are reconcilable or harmonizable upon careful consideration.²¹As McGrew herself acknowledges, this last type of evidence involves the most complex considerations, but the basic idea is as follows: Some reconcilable variation is normally to be expected in independent witness testimony of the same event(s). Since in many places the Gospels contain such reconcilable variation, this serves as evidence that they are indeed based on independent testimony of real historical events. See p. 316-21. As with undesigned coincidences, McGrew argues that these pieces of evidence support a reportage model precisely because they appear natural and uncontrived, the type of imperfections we would expect to find in honest straightforward reportage rather than artistically embellished or heavily edited literary works. On this account then, all of the above-mentioned aspects of the Gospel texts — including some of the more mundane or obscure aspects — actually serve as evidence of their historical reliability. 

So much for the foundations of the reportage model. The question remains, how, if at all, can this model account for the numerous differences among the Gospels? 

In addressing this question, McGrew critically examines numerous Gospel differences, considering explanations of them offered by literary device theorists, and weighing these against alternate explanations consistent with the reportage model. In almost every case, she argues that literary device theorists have ignored simple explanations in favor of more complex explanations involving fictionalization. In some cases this involves “over-reading” the texts in question — interpreting them to be communicating or implying contradictory claims, when alternate non-contradictory interpretations are possible.²²397. As McGrew describes it, this “includes arguments from silence [and] treating narrative order as chronological order when achronological narration is entirely plausible,” 397. See generally, Chapter XV, p. 397-425. In other cases, wherein there does at least appear to be a contradiction, theorists often jump to explanations based on fictionalization, ignoring or dismissing non-fictionalizing possibilities (e.g. simple errors or differences in source material).²³See Chapter XIV, p. 367-95.. In yet other cases theorists go so far as to hypothesize that parts of passages were fictionalized when there is not even an apparent contradiction between accounts.²⁴See Chapter XIII, p.339-65. McGrew refers to these as “utterly unforced errors” because, in her view, there is nothing forcing an explanation at all. Rather, in these cases, the explanations seem to stem solely from an initial assumption on the part of a theorist that the Gospel account in question is unreliable. 

In the end, McGrew finds the reportage model better able to account for Gospel differences than literary device theory primarily by producing consistently simpler and more plausible explanations of the differences. These explanations are simpler in the sense that they have fewer moving parts and require less speculation or conjecture. Many of them instead involve harmonization — discovering plausible interpretations²⁵For example, in addressing the differences in the narrative of the man with a withered hand — specifically the question of who said what in the dialogue between Jesus and the Pharisees — McGrew acknowledges contradictory interpretations are possible, but argues for an interpretation of the accounts whereby both Jesus and the Pharisees pose the same question at different times in the same dialogue (p. 401-07). and/or circumstances²⁶For example, in addressing the differences in the chronological placement of the temple cleansing incident between the Synoptics and John, McGrew argues for the view that there were in fact two temple cleansings — one toward the beginning of Jesus’s ministry (mentioned in the Synoptics), the other toward the end (mentioned in John) (p. 368-75). by which all accounts might reasonably be true without contradiction — a practice she maintains is sound historical methodology despite its having fallen out of favor in certain scholarly circles. In only a few cases, the reportage model leads her to set aside harmonizing explanations in favor of good-faith error as the best explanations for the differences in question.²⁷This is the case regarding the story of the centurion asking Jesus (or sending someone to ask Jesus) to heal his servant (p. 375-80) and regarding the story of the anointing of Jesus’s feet (or head) (p. 389-395). In all cases, she ultimately argues for non-fictionalizing explanations that she finds simpler, and therefore more likely, than the fictionalizing alternatives on offer from literary device theorists. In other words, on this account, it is always more likely that the Gospel authors were at least attempting to provide true accounts of events — even if they occasionally made mistakes — than that they were knowingly providing falsified accounts. 

Having thus built the case for viewing the Gospels not as artfully crafted literary projects, but as straightforward, honest, historical reports, McGrew calls on readers of all stripes to carry this view forward in the way they approach studying the Gospels. She maintains that despite its potential for opening the Gospels up to doubts about historicity in certain places, the shift to a reportage view is actually “good news”²⁸484. for Gospel scholarship because it leads to fruitful lines of inquiry that tend to confirm the historicity of the Gospel narratives overall. For Christians, this is especially good news, because it allows them to view the Gospels not as a mask, obscuring the events they purport to describe, but as a mirror, directly reflecting the true teachings and actions of the historical Jesus. 

A Few Thoughts

I found The Mirror or the Mask to be a work of extraordinary depth and detail as well as being clearly argued and well organized. Lydia McGrew is nothing if not thorough, and leaves almost no stone unturned in her quest to take the literary device hypothesis and its proponents to task. Despite the extraordinary detail of her analysis, not to mention the complexity of the subject matter to begin with, one of the most refreshing things about McGrew’s writing is actually how down-to-earth she remains throughout — both in her commitments to clarity and transparency and in her concern with what, for most people, is at stake in all of this. Indeed, one of her explicit goals in the book is to cut through the sometimes muddied waters of scholarly theorizing and to provide readers with more-or-less direct access to the evidence in order to judge things for themselves.²⁹Related to this point, she is also taking a stand against “credentialism,” the view that only those with a certain credential or training are qualified to understand and evaluate these ideas. As she puts it, “This book itself illustrates that one does not need some specific credential in order to assess the relevant evidence, as it lays out and evaluates the arguments point by point,” viii. 

McGrew has done several things in order to make this rather intensive and lengthy read more manageable and accessible for lay readers. The chapters are separated into four main parts corresponding to the main parts of her thesis: (1) an introduction to the literary device view and the problems it raises, (2) a critical analysis of this view and an argument against it, (3) a description and defense of the reportage model as an alternative, and finally (4) an in-depth analysis of how each of of these models fares in explaining specific Gospel differences. Each chapter also ends with a summary of its main points, which help to keep track of the overarching lines of argument. 

McGrew has further reduced difficulties for readers by removing to appendices some of the many examples and evidence that help illustrate a few of her points. This keeps the evidence available to anyone wishing to go through it but makes for a bit of an easier read for those who do not. Where possible, she has also included links to freely available source material, both primary and secondary, in service to her stated goal of allowing readers to judge things for themselves. Finally, there are several indexes allowing readers to search for certain authors, Biblical passages, and/or subjects if desired. 

Despite all the above measures, it is still a challenge to make it through the nearly 500 pages of main text without getting just a bit lost at times, and I did find myself needing to go back and reference earlier material at several points to make sense of it all. For this, the chapter summaries are particularly helpful, but the greatest help, I think, comes from McGrew’s writing itself. 

As mentioned above, she is committed above all to clarity and never loses focus on what is at stake in all of the issues — namely the historical reliability of the Gospels. She comes to this project with all the precision and rigor of an analytic philosopher and ultimately finds several New Testament scholars guilty of too often lacking precision and rigor in their work. A recurring theme in her analysis is that statements from theorists are too often ambiguous with respect to both what exactly they are claiming about the composition of the Gospels and what these claims mean for the reliability of the texts.³⁰See especially “Chapter II: A Handful of Crucial Distinctions,” 18-32.

I find this perspective refreshing. Many of McGrew’s points I believe to be valid, insightful, and a much-needed counterbalance to the apparent scholarly consensus. Specifically, I think she is spot-on in drawing some of the distinctions that others fail to acknowledge or recognize (e.g. between “dyschronological” and “achronological” narration, or between the overall purpose of a literary genre and its accepted conventions³¹See note 11 above.) and in recognizing the deeply important implications that literary device theory holds for the basic historicity of the Gospels and, by extension, their theological/religious significance. Whether one ends up agreeing on all points with McGrew or not, her meticulous cross-examination and analysis of the evidence concerning Gospel composition is an invaluable contribution to the debate. 

This brings us to the central argument of the book — or, I should say, the central arguments because, as mentioned above, there are really two parts to McGrew’s thesis: the first part being an argument against literary device theory, the second being an argument for the reportage model. In what follows, I’ll consider each of these arguments in turn. 

Does McGrew succeed in her arguments against literary device theory?

In my view, by and large, the answer is “yes.” At least, she succeeds in laying bare some major weaknesses in both its foundations and its application. Does this completely undermine all parts of the theory? I would hesitate to go quite so far. 

I think McGrew succeeds in showing that the Gospels don’t fit neatly or unproblematically into the genre of Greco-Roman biography. In fact, in doing so, she shows that this genre itself (like all genres) isn’t so well-defined or standardized as to necessarily tell us much about the composition or reliability of particular texts within it. In other words, “genre” itself is a rather fuzzy category, and in the case of the Gospels in particular, they likely don’t fit into any one identifiable genre. 

I think she also succeeds in showing that certain compositional devices have been given a rather technical air by modern theorists, which is not warranted by their actual use in ancient literature. The picture she reveals in her research is rather more variegated. It seems that for ancient biography and history (much like modern biography and history) the amount of creative license and commitment to veracity varied by author just as much as by genre. 

When it comes to the Gospels, then, if we’re primarily concerned with assessing reliability (which I am), maybe the question of whether they “fit” into this or that genre is largely beside the point. If so, we need to look for other criteria with which to judge them. This is the direction McGrew takes in her book, but it is also the point at which I would part ways with her somewhat. 

For McGrew, even prior to considering the evidence of undesigned coincidences etc., we have good reason to believe the Gospels are reliable historical reports because of (1) the testimony of the authors themselves regarding their commitments to veracity and (2) the way in which they argue for theological truths based on historical events.³²The simple idea behind point 2 here is that, for any theological claim made in the Gospels to hold weight, the historical claims on which it is based need to also hold weight. Despite what some scholars seem to suggest, if an event didn’t really happen as recorded (e.g. Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead), any spiritual or theological significance it might illustrate (e.g. that Jesus has power over life and death) would be completely undermined. Or, as McGrew puts it, “Fake points don’t make points,” 247-50. These two points are crucial in this debate because one’s prior assumptions and/or impressions in large part can determine their approach to the Gospels and ultimately the conclusions that they draw. McGrew is very aware of this and is in fact arguing that literary device theorists have taken the wrong approach by viewing the Gospels as unreliable from the start. 

Maybe so, but I think it is also possible to swing too far the other way by viewing the Gospels as wholly reliable from the start. I would want to land somewhere in the middle, and my position would be one of caution against extreme or simplistic views on either side. As I argue below, maybe our answer to the question of reliability concerning the Gospel texts shouldn’t be a simple “yes” or “no,” but involves some more considerations and is really one of degree: how reliable are the Gospels?

Considering McGrew’s first point — the self-attestation of the Gospel authors — while I think it holds some weight and certainly shouldn’t be ignored, in comparison to other considerations, it is quite weak. For one thing, just because someone insists they’re telling the truth, it doesn’t mean they really are. For another, even if someone intends to tell the truth or believes they are telling the truth, it doesn’t mean they’re succeeding in doing so.³³I don’t mean to trivialize this point. There are of course different ways one can try and convince others they are telling the truth, and some of them are better than others. It is one thing to make a statement to the effect of “I’m telling the truth, I swear!” It is another to claim to be an eyewitness to events oneself (as the author of John apparently does at several points in his Gospel). It is yet another to name other eyewitnesses who are still around so that others could go back and verify their testimony, as Luke does at several points in his Gospel. The last of these is of course the best, and this evidence from Luke has for a long time served to bolster the case for its reliability. These points notwithstanding, I still think we have some reason to maintain some caution regarding the reliability of all parts of Luke and John (For a couple reasons, see note 34 below).

As for the second point — the Gospels’ dependence on historical truth — I couldn’t agree more that each of the Gospels builds a particular case, or argument (spiritual, theological, moral, etc.), based on ostensibly true historical events. The key question is, “Were these events actually true?” While it may seem reasonable to assume the Gospel authors simply wouldn’t try to build their arguments on shaky or dubious historical grounds, as with the first point, I believe there are some additional considerations that make such an assumption somewhat less safe than McGrew seems to think. 

My main reasons for parting ways with McGrew here have to do with questions of authorship and the method of the original authors — i.e. who wrote these things, and how did they go about doing it? It is my understanding that the majority view among scholars who study these issues is that much of the material in the Gospels is probably not simply direct eyewitness testimony put into writing, that even if the Gospels are based on eyewitness testimony, the actual composition of them involved an indirect process of compilation and editing. As for exactly why this is the majority view, I don’t know all the reasons. I do know that many of these reasons are related to the “Synoptic problem” addressed briefly by Licona in Why are there Differences in the Gospels?, which has to do with the order and method of composition of the Synoptic Gospels. Note that this is a “problem” precisely because we don’t know where the Gospel authors sourced all of their information, and it appears quite likely that much of it was gleaned from second-hand sources, including both written accounts and oral traditions.³⁴Here are a few more reasons to view the Gospels as products of indirect or secondary compilation: First, the Synoptic problem has to do partly with the fact that the Synoptic Gospels are so close in content as to make it apparent that one or two of them made use of the other(s) and/or some other common source(s). So, whatever they are, they are almost certainly not entirely independent accounts. This much seems to be acknowledged by Luke at the beginning of his Gospel: “Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us, just as those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word have delivered them to us . . .,” Luke 1:1-2. (For more on the “Synoptic problem” and Licona’s take on it, see Note 14 in my “Review of Why Are There Differences in the Gospels?”) Beyond this, we know the individual Gospels themselves have been changed and/or edited in small but sometimes significant ways, as evidenced from the different versions of some passages among extant manuscripts. (One of the most famous examples of this would be the ending of Mark: Chapter 16 verses 9-20. Whether one considers these verses to be a later addition or original to the text and later redacted in some copies, they tell us that someone at some point edited the text.) A third reason that comes to mind is that the Gospel authors obviously were editorializing to some extent. Rather than merely presenting bare factual reports, they included editorial comments and made implicit and explicit connections to theological and moral lessons. Given this apparent goal or agenda, it is quite plausible that confirmation bias may have made the authors (like any of us) more likely to accept without too much suspicion stories/traditions about Jesus that confirmed their views and to omit or reject those that did not. 

Why does that matter? Because, if it is the case, the added distance — in terms of time, geography, and number of intermediaries — between the Gospel authors and the events they describe would force them to take on, at least to some extent, the role of literary or redactive editors rather than reporters of bare facts. Furthermore, this added distance would increase the potential for errors, even assuming the authors had every intention of being honest and factual in their accounts. 

This is a significantly different picture from the one McGrew paints in her book. We have seen that she starts by placing high initial confidence in the Gospels’ reliability and that from there she tends to explain differences and discrepancies as either harmonizable or otherwise non-fictional. It seems to me that this view entails an understanding of the authors as either eyewitnesses themselves or very close to certain eyewitness sources. But, this is precisely the question: were the authors this close to the events, or were they somewhat removed? Are these eyewitness reports, or do they include material that was passed down second-hand through written and/or oral tradition? As we move toward considering the second half of McGrew’s thesis and her argument for the reportage model, it seems to me the answers to these questions will make all the difference. 

When it comes to the second half of McGrew’s thesis — her argument for the reportage model — I think she builds a fairly strong case, but I’m not convinced it goes quite so far as she concludes. Many of the undesigned coincidences and similar pieces of evidence she reveals are indeed compelling,³⁵McGrew reveals one particularly compelling example of a double undesigned coincidence between the parallel accounts of Jesus washing the Last Supper (in Luke 22:24-30 and John 13:1-17). In John, Jesus rises from the table and washes the feet of the disciples then returns to his place and relays a lesson, namely, among other things, that they should do likewise. Luke’s account of the same night does not contain the foot-washing, but it does mention a dispute among the disciples about who is greatest that Jesus uses as an opportunity for a similar lesson about servant leadership. The first coincidence is that Luke’s account helps explain why, in John, Jesus may have chosen that particular evening to wash the feet of his disciples — in response to their dispute about who was greatest. The second coincidence is that John’s account helps explain why, in Luke, Jesus states that he is “among them as one who serves” (in Luke 22:26), since he is, or has just finished, serving them by washing their feet. I find these coincidences compelling because they show consistency between the two accounts and, by the same token, serve as evidence of the reality of the events described. Some, not as much,³⁶One example of a not-so-convincing undesigned coincidence concerns the testimony of John the Baptist regarding Jesus. (This is addressed by McGrew on p.261-64 and deals with more-or-less parallel passages found in Mark 1:1-11, Matthew 3:1-16, Luke 3:1-22, and John 1:19-34.) As McGrew describes it, there is a gap in the account in the Gospel of John. In that Gospel, John the Baptist testifies that Jesus is the Son of God, but makes no mention whatsoever of the voice of God stating as much, as we see in the Synoptics. The straightforward coincidence in this case is that the Synoptic accounts help explain John’s account by providing the reason why John the Baptist may have believed Jeus was the Son of God, and not just the Messiah. The reason I don’t find this too convincing is that I’m not sure such an explanation is necessary, and even if it is, I’m not sure it serves as good evidence for the historicity of any of the Gospel accounts of this particular story. It is true that, by itself, the Gospel of John leaves the exact reason John the Baptist knew Jesus as the Son of God unexplained, but then, considering that the Gospel of John is almost universally acknowledged to be the latest composed, it seems reasonable to me to think that the author may have left out this detail because the story of Jesus’s baptism was already familiar to his audience. Similarly, it also seems possible that John the Baptist’s authority would have been so widely recognized by the target audience that no explanation would be necessary. After all, in John 1:33, just prior to the statement that Jesus is the Son of God, John the Baptist states that Jesus’s special role was revealed to him directly by God. Presumably, God could have revealed many things to John in such a way, including that Jesus was God’s son. It appears even less necessary for there to be any explanation of this recognition of Jesus’s identity when we consider what happens later in the same chapter (John 1:43-50). Having just learned that Jesus miraculously knew things about him from a distance, Nathaniel declares, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the king of Israel.” We may just as well ask how Nathaniel knew Jesus’s identity as God’s son, but to my knowledge no such explanation exists in any Gospel. Rather, by all indications, the author of John seems content to let those statements speak for themselves. but taken together, they serve to demonstrate that if we take the Gospels seriously as historical documents, we can find these sorts of confirmations sprinkled throughout. 

However, finding confirmations sprinkled throughout the Gospels is different from confirming each of the Gospel accounts in their entirety. It is one thing to acknowledge that the Gospels are based on true events and quite another to conclude from this that they are entirely or mostly true. The question is always one of degree: just how reliable are they? This is one reason I say I am not entirely convinced of the ultimate conclusions McGrew draws — that the Gospel authors were highly reliable straightforward reporters of true events, even regarding details — but there is one other main reason I say this. 

The second reason has to do with the evidence itself. As compelling as much of it is, when I consider it carefully, I think it works best only if we assume the Gospel authors to be close reporters of events with access to independent sources. If we change our perspective a bit and consider that the authors may have been a bit more removed, I think it becomes apparent just how conjectural some of this evidence can be. As I recall now in writing this, even the most striking of the examples she unpacks involve some speculation and don’t always warrant the type of explanations she offers.³⁷For example, returning to the story of the Last Supper mentioned in Note 35 above, McGrew herself admits that “it is possible that Jesus washed the disciples’ feet on that night for no special reason except, at most, the thought of his own impending death,” 268. As for the foot-washing in John serving to explain the context of Jesus’s words in Luke, this is similarly speculative and also strikes me as unnecessary. McGrew points out that, the way the account in Luke reads, Jesus was presumably reclining at the table even as he was stating that he was among the disciples as a servant. But, as I read it, Luke provides no indication either way about where exactly Jesus was or what he was doing when he spoke those words. So, while it is entirely plausible that the words were a reference to the foot-washing, it may have been a reference to something else or just to his role and ministry in general. More importantly, none of this serves as evidence that these events really unfolded as written in either Gospel. What seems just as likely to me is that neither author knew the details of these events and that, even if they got some information from witnesses, their accounts necessarily involve some creative editing of evidence together into what we have today. For more on this view, continue reading below. Furthermore, when it comes to analyzing and explaining individual Gospel differences, I don’t believe the reportage model is invariably more convincing than the alternatives on offer from literary device theorists.

As a sort of case study, take McGrew’s treatment of the well-known story of the man with the withered hand.³⁸The story is found in parallel in Mark 3.1-5, Matthew 12.9-14, and Luke 6.6-11. It is treated by Licona in Why are There Differences in the Gospels?, p.126-29. 

Licona, in his book, finds a discrepancy between some of the Gospel accounts of this story regarding whether the Pharisees are silent throughout the encounter or engage in a dialogue with Jesus over the healing of the man’s hand on the Sabbath. Licona offers an explanation, stating that “Matthew takes the thoughts of the Pharisees and converts them into a dialogue with Jesus.” ³⁹Licona, Why Are There Differences, 128. McGrew argues against this, asserting that it is “over-reading” to interpret Mark and Luke to mean the Pharisees were silent throughout “the entire encounter”⁴⁰403. Emphasis added. and suggests instead a harmonization of the three Gospel accounts according to which the Pharisees were partly silent or silent for only part of the encounter. She goes on to offer a brief reconstruction of “how it might have gone” using “a little real-world imagination.”⁴¹404. 

The main thing I wish to note here is this: whether one sides with Licona or McGrew in this case will depend largely on how one understands each of the accounts to have been written in the first place. If the Gospel authors were eyewitnesses or close reporters of eyewitness testimony, McGrew’s position that these differences are the result of normal witness variation seems quite plausible, and an imagined reconstruction of events that harmonizes the accounts might indeed be the best approximation of what really happened. Conversely, in such a case it seems unlikely that Matthew, being so close to the events, would flat-out invent a dialogue if it didn’t really happen. 

But, if the Gospel authors were sifting through accounts that were second-hand and/or oral traditions, there would be much more potential for an author (Matthew in this case) to creatively reconstruct some of the details of the encounter, either out of necessity (e.g. because some of the details were already confused or lost) or out of artistry (e.g. in order to depict the Pharisees and/or Jesus in a certain way), or both. Given the distance of the authors from the events themselves, it seems more likely that Matthew made such an embellishment than that all three authors managed to compile accurate reports that only appear inconsistent. 

Note that in either case there is speculation and conjecture involved in explaining the difference in question. McGrew admits to using imagination to guess at how things might have gone in order to harmonize the Gospel accounts, and Licona simply speculates that Matthew must have deliberately put words into the mouths of the Pharisees for some reason. The basic problem of course is that nobody knows exactly how this encounter unfolded. In essence, we can’t help but employ conjecture; in most cases, given the evidence available, it appears to be our only option. In weighing one theory against another, then, the deciding factor will often have to do with our prior assumptions about the text. 

So, how does one choose which prior assumptions to bring to the text? 

For McGrew, the answer is relatively straightforward: The simplest theory that accounts for all the evidence is the best one. Licona’s answer might have something to do with trusting the scholarly consensus on these matters. For my own part, I don’t know that we need to make a firm choice in favor of either of these two approaches. Simplicity can be misleading,⁴²I have noted previously that McGrew appeals frequently to the simplicity of the reportage model as a key factor in arguing for its superiority over the literary device model. I am skeptical of this for several reasons. The first is that if experience has taught me anything it is that humans are far from simple. Partly for this reason, I would argue that, when dealing with human history specifically, it is actually safer to erre on the side of complexity in our theories. I am not of course suggesting we do so arbitrarily, favoring more complex theories just because they’re more complex. Rather, I mean to say that history — i.e. the collection of past human activities and events — has no doubt been shaped by the complex interactions of many factors, and our best theories of history should reflect and account for that. To fail in this regard is to run the risk of oversimplifying our view of the past. Nor do the reasons for my skepticism end there, because I think there is also a case to be made that the historical process that produced the New Testament documents specifically was complicated by several factors, many of which I’ve touched on previously (e.g. the motivations and biases of the authors, the variance and potential spuriousness of source material available, the later transmissions and editing of the texts; see note 34 above). Finally, even beyond the discipline of history, in terms of epistemology in general, I think there is reason to question the notion that simplicity per se is a sound or reliable marker of truth. I believe the history of ideas has taught us this lesson time and again in every field from psychology to physics. To put it briefly, the more we learn about ourselves and the world, the more truly complex we realize things are. I recognize this is a large topic all its own that I won’t do justice to here, so I’ll let those comments suffice for now. Perhaps I will explore further the epistemology of simplicity in its own post some day. no less than current trends within scholarship.⁴³I have already mentioned McGrew’s stand against credentialism, with which I am in complete agreement. See note 29 above. That is not to say I would reject entirely either of these approaches. Rather, I think they both have something to recommend them, and I think it is possible to adopt a middle position and draw insight from both.⁴⁴McGrew, for her part, apparently disagrees with such an approach. She raises the possibility briefly that one could adopt a “smorgasbord approach” (261), picking and choosing between a reportage view and a literary device view when considering different parts of the Gospel, and she rejects this on the grounds that it is ad hoc and incoherent. In her words, “The ad hocness and epistemic lack of principle in such an approach is evident when one asks this question: What kind of author is one creating in such a process? Not a psychologically coherent author,” 261. As I take it, the idea here is basically that a given author would not be both committed to truthful reportage (per the reportage model) and at the same time willing to knowingly alter parts of their narrative (per the literary device model) because those two values are clearly at odds. This argument is well taken so far as it goes, but in response I would point out two things. First, I would note that her argument seems to presuppose we are dealing with a single author with access to reports very close to the events in question, and I have already made the case that we are probably dealing with something a little more complicated (See Paragraph 16 and following of my thoughts above). Second, while it is certainly true that the most absolute or extreme forms of each of these two theories are at odds, in milder or more tempered forms, they would seem to me to be quite compatible. So, an author that cares nothing for preserving historical truth in pursuit of crafting a certain narrative is obviously incompatible with an author who is only concerned with the facts, whatever narrative image they portray. However, it need not be simply one or the other. An author that is interested in reporting facts but at the same time uncritical in accepting certain source material when it matches his preconceptions, or who is willing to creatively fill in gaps in the record to form a more cohesive narrative might find himself in good company among at least some ancient historians/biographers (not to mention some modern ones). Such an author might not be entirely “psychologically coherent,” but if not, neither are any of us. We all are subject to biases and tend to embrace the facts when they match those biases and avoid them when they don’t. It seems to me this is a natural human tendency that applies to ancient authors as much as to us. 

For what it’s worth, then, my own current position could be expressed something like this: The Gospel narratives are the product of a complex process of collecting, recording, editing, and transmitting that took place several decades after the events they describe. Their material thus likely comes from a variety of sources, both written and oral, first-hand and more removed. Some of these sources were no doubt more reliable than others. Furthermore, there was quite likely some creative editing and embellishment on the part of the original authors, later editors, or their sources, but within limits. Whether or not fictionalizing literary conventions were accepted within a certain genre at the time, we should be open to the very real possibility that the Gospel authors utilized, at the very least, some creative guesswork in crafting their narratives.⁴⁵If I might be so bold as to draw a comparison, the best parallel I can think of to the process of Gospel composition I outline here is that of the literary tradition of Sira in Islam. Sira are essentially biographies of the Prophet Muhammad, composed from what of necessity were originally disconnected stories of the Prophet from various sources, mostly transmitted orally. Eventually these stories were collected, compiled, and then synthesized into coherent (and chronological) narratives. From a historical perspective, the reliability of Sira is questionable due to the many points in this process open to potential error and/or embellishment, but they are no doubt based on many true events and contain historical truth. If the process of Gospel composition is anything like the process of Sira composition, we should have some similar questions regarding the historical reliability of the Gospels.

Given this, I approach the Gospels with the understanding that their overall reliability is mixed. There is quite likely a lot of material in the Gospel narratives that could rightly be called straightforward reportage, but it is mixed with material that is not so straightforward (not to mention material that is not exactly reportage at all.⁴⁶For example, the numerous editorial asides, such as references to which prophecy Jesus fulfilled with his actions (e.g. Matt 1:22, 2:6, 2:17, etc.), and passages ascribing a broader historical or theological significance to the events of Jesus’s life, such as the genealogy in Matthew (1:7-16) or the famous passage at the beginning of John (1:1-5: “In the beginning was the Word . . .”).

Practically, what this means is that I am open to multiple possibilities when considering the reliability of each Gospel passage, and each Gospel passage really ought to be evaluated individually. So, I am absolutely in agreement with McGrew in questioning the literary device theorists’ tendency to attribute practically every Gospel difference to the intentional artistry of the original author, but I am also in agreement with literary device theorists in recognizing that at least some differences are likely due to such artistic embellishments at some level. Choosing which are due to such embellishments involves weighing many considerations, and there are some about which we may never be certain, but it’s not all as hopeless as it at first might seem. For one thing, we have other lines of evidence to weigh in consideration of each passage (textual-critical evidence, external historical and archaeological evidence, etc.), and for another, even when we can’t seem to make a choice on which parts of which Gospels to trust, we can usually draw some reasonable conclusions about the events in question, giving us some limited picture of how events might have gone. 

To see how this approach might play out in practice, let’s return to our case study regarding the story of the man with the withered hand. We have seen that Licona adopts a fictionalizing explanation in which Matthew intentionally converted a monologue from Jesus into a dialogue with the Pharisees, and McGrew prefers a harmonizing explanation in which all the accounts are entirely truthful but each only contains part of the whole truth. From my perspective, both of these are possibilities, but there are others as well. Matthew could have flat-out invented the dialogue with the Pharisees, knowing it didn’t really take place, but he also could have invented it as a sort of best guess in order to fill in a lacuna in his knowledge of the events. Maybe whatever his sources were, they only provided a rough sketch of this interaction. It is also possible that this lack of information was an obstacle for all the Synoptic authors, and they were all forced to fill in some gaps in one way or another. Or, maybe not. Maybe in this case Mark closely recorded a faithful eyewitness account of this event, but maybe Matthew in his account followed a different source that had embellished this story with a bit more dialogue. 

All of these things are possible, and we may never know with much certainty which of these things is the case. But, we do know something from reading this passage. We know that all three Synoptic Gospels contain this parallel interaction, and the basic outline of it is the same: Jesus heals a man’s hand on the Sabbath and has a disagreement about it with the Pharisees. This serves as evidence that Jesus really did have this interaction and it went something like it does in all three Synoptic Gospels, regardless of who exactly said what when. Or, at the very least, this tells us this was a story of Jesus circulating around the time of the composition and that the values communicated by the narrative were likely held by the early Christian community. 

Of course, this is just one passage, and there may be others that would result in different sorts of conclusions. But, I think in any case my general approach would be the same — weigh the possibilities with the available evidence, and where there is significant uncertainty, consider what conclusions, if any, can be drawn with confidence. 

To summarize my position about as briefly as possible, then, I think that The Mirror or the Mask rightly problematizes literary device theory regarding the Gospels, but the reportage model that it sets up as an alternative is too simple to be the whole story. The truth is likely more complicated and lies somewhere in the middle of these two theories. 

It hardly bears mentioning that I could be wrong on any of the points above. This is just my honest current position on the matter from what I understand. I ended my review of Why Are There Differences in the Gospels? by pointing out that it provides an answer that leads to more questions, and I think the same could be said here. For better or worse, it seems there is always more to learn about the history surrounding the New Testament.⁴⁷And, there is much more to the debate on these issues specifically. Since the publication of The Mirror or the Mask, Licona has produced a series of YouTube videos responding to some of its criticisms of literary device theory. The first of these videos can be found here: Lydia McGrew Answered! An Introduction – YouTube. McGrew in turn has produced a series of her own videos, the “Mirror or the Mask response series,” the first of which can be found here: The Mirror or the Mask, 1 of 7: Fictionalizing Literary Devices – YouTube. She has also recently published another book making similar arguments to those found in The Mirror or the Mask, but focused on defending the veracity of the Gospel of John. See Lydia McGrew, The Eye of the Beholder: The Gospel of John as Historical Reportage (Tampa: DeWard Publishing, 2021). As I leave this work behind, first and foremost on my mind is the question of authorship; it is to that question, I hope to turn next.⁴⁸In pursuing that question, there are a few resources I’ve come across so far that I think will be helpful. The first is Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony, 2nd edition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017). Other resources would have to do with the synoptic problem and the various hypotheses regarding these.

The Bottom Line

The Mirror or the Mask is a meticulously researched and thorough analysis of some key considerations concerning the reliability of the Gospels. Lydia McGrew provides a much-needed counterbalance to the apparent scholarly consensus view and makes a compelling case for a more straightforward view of the Gospels as reliable historical reports. Wherever one lands on these issues, the arguments raised in this book are important to consider. Although the depth and detail can make it a challenge, McGrew has done much to make the book accessible to a lay audience. As such, I would recommend The Mirror or the Mask to anyone who is seriously interested in pursuing questions of Gospel reliability for themselves.