Bart D. Ehrman has produced another book that takes a gimlet-eyed look at Sunday-school attitudes towards the Christian writings. In this case, he is bringing up not only the notion that many of the New Testament books aren’t by their named authors, but also that in some cases they are deliberate forgeries created to support a particular agenda.
Ehrman’s book is not my present topic; I’m not in the habit of commenting on books I haven’t read. My thoughts have turned to the elaborations and complications that are part and parcel of every philosophical system, including religions and pseudo-sciences. If you start with something that is neither verifiable nor subject to disproof, then you can go at it with endless arguments, counter-arguments, fanciful descriptions and entertaining glosses.
Consider the birth narratives surrounding Siddhatta Gotama. The stories from the oldest Buddhist writings share a certain direct simplicity in common. Siddhatta was born in Lumbini, Nepal and was raised by his aunt after his own mother died. But elaboration begins early: some sources have him born beneath a sal tree, convenient given that he found enlightenment years later under yet another sal tree. Some stories tell of dreams and prophecies. Later traditions add some downright dazzling whoppers, such as the newborn infant walking around and pointing dramatically to the sky.
Everybody wants to tell the kids a good story as we guide them along the road to cultural membership. Birth and miracle stories are particularly handy for the little ones, with the sadder stuff reserved for later. The Buddhist tradition is filled with cute kiddie tales that portray the Buddha-to-be in an earlier existence, performing works of compassion and charity, such as his incarnation as the Monkey King who saves his mates from disaster via a noble act of self-sacrifice. (That one even shows up Doctor Dolittle.) But other stories are less kid-friendly and more adult, such as Siddhatta’s set-to with Mara (the Buddhist equivalent of Satan) at the time of his enlightenment.
Such tales are sweet and dramatic, but there is absolutely no reason to give any of them credence apart from their underlying folk traditions. And while the occasional hardcore fundamentalist might insist that every word is true, I think it’s more common for people to take the stories for what they are—poetic license in the interest of making a point. Siddhatta’s release from suffering is the point; waving his little hand and changing Mara’s arrows into flower petals is decorative frou-frou.
The birth narratives in the New Testament are poetic license. There are only two—in Matthew and Luke—and they don’t agree with each other. The Matthew gospel, steeped in Hebraic lore and Torah references, tells the story as a parallel to the birth of Moses. The Luke gospel takes a much more lyrical view, bringing in powerful women (Mary and Elizabeth) and telling that familiar story of no room in the inn and the manger and the shepherds in the field.
Good stories. But they made it all up. Jesus of Nazareth’s documented story begins in adulthood. We don’t know anything about him before that.
One particularly fanciful new-age-y fabulist has him wandering about in India during his youth, by the way.
None of this matters a bit to anyone seeking a path of growth via any of the world’s religions. Elaboration and artifice encrust all religions. In the process of trying to separate the wheat from the chaff, each person decides what’s worth accepting and what’s not. The bulk of Western Buddhists are uneasy with issues such as rebirth or the elaborate cosmology of the Pali Canon or later Mahayana traditions. I blip right over most of that stuff when I read it, or hear it during a Dhamma talk. They made it all up.
I was raised as a nominal Christian (i.e., we made an occasional show of attending a church) but as far as I’m concerned Christianity is mostly moonshine, up to and including the resurrection and the subsequent promotion of Jesus to supernatural status. The various miracle stories strike me as ham-handed folklore designed to elicit a gee-whiz reaction. But there is nothing the slightest bit spiritual about walking on water or changing water into wine or even raising the dead. Those are just carnival come-ons tossed in to perk up interest. After all, it’s tough to charm people with a sober discussion of the merits of compassion. But if you can phrase it as a man throwing himself off a cliff to provide food to a litter of starving orphaned lion cubs? Much better. But it’s just a story. They made it all up.
It doesn’t really matter if books in the New Testament were written by their purported authors, or by somebody else. It’s like the fellow who stated firmly that the Odyssey wasn’t written by Homer, but by another writer of the same name. The Odyssey remains intact nonetheless. So whether a particular book of the New Testament was by Tom or Dick or Harry—so what? If the writing offers guidance or inspiration, that’s what’s important.