Inspiration and Interpretation / Seven Sermons Preached Before the University of Oxford

by John William Burgon

It will be convenient that we should narrow the ground to this single issue: for the time is short. And in the remarks I am about to offer, I shall not imitate the example of those preachers who dress out an easy thought in a superfluity of inflated language, only in order that its deformity may escape detection. Be not surprised if I speak to you this morning in uncommonly plain English; for I am determined that the simplest person present shall understand at least what I mean. The dignity of the Blessed Evangelists, who walked with Jesus, and whom Jesus loved,—the dignity of that Gospel which I believe to be penetrated through and through with the Holy Spirit of God,—for that, I confess to a most unbounded jealousy. As for the "dignity of the pulpit,"—I hate the very phrase! It has been made too often the shield of impiety and the cloak of dulness.

To begin, then,—Is it, I would ask you, a reasonable anticipation that the narrative of one inspired by God would prove full of inconsistencies, misstatements, slips of memory:—or indeed, that it should contain any misstatements, any inaccuracies at all? What then is the difference between an inspired and an uninspired writing,—the Word of God and the Word of Man?

The answer which I shall receive, is obvious. As a matter of fact (it is replied) there are these inaccuracies: that is, the same transaction is described by two or more writers, and their accounts prove inconsistent. Thus, St. Matthew begins his account of the healing of the blind at Jericho, with the words,—"And as they were going out of Jericho:" but St. Luke, "While He was drawing nigh to Jericho."—There are these slips of memory; as when St. Matthew ascribes to "Jeremy the prophet" words which are found in the prophet Zechariah.—There are these misstatements, as where the Census of the Nativity is said to have taken place under the presidentship of Cyrenius.—And these are but samples of a mighty class of difficulties, (it is urged:)—the two Genealogies; the Call of the four Disciples; the healing of the Centurion's servant; the title on the Cross; the history of the Resurrection:—and again, "the sixteenth of Tiberius;" "the days of Abiathar;" with many others.—Let me then briefly discuss the three examples first cited,—which really came spontaneously. Each is the type of a class; and the answer to one is, in reality, applicable to all the rest. I humbly ask for your patience and attention; promising that I will abuse neither, though I must tax both.

The great fundamental truth to be first laid down, is this—that the Gospels are not four—but one. The Ancients knew this very well. Εὐαγγελισταὶ μὲν τέσσαρες,—Εὐαγγέλιον δὲ ἕν—says Origen[360]: "the Gospel-writers are four,—but the Gospel is one." And the ancients recorded this mighty verity four times over on the first page of the Gospel, lest it should ever be forgotten; and there it stands to this day:—the Gospel,—the one Gospel κατὰ,—according to—St. Matthew,—according to St. Mark,—according to St. Luke,—according to St. John. Like that river which went out of Eden to water the Garden,—it was by the Holy Ghost "parted, and became into four heads."—The Gospels therefore, (to call them by their common name,) are not to be regarded as four witnesses, or rather as four culprits, brought up on a charge of fraud. Rather are they Angelic voices singing in sweetest harmony, but after a method of Heavenly counterpoint which must be studied before it can be understood of Men.

And next,—There is one great principle, and one only, which needs to be borne in mind for the effectual reconciliation of every discrepancy which the four narratives present: namely, that you should approach them in exactly the same spirit in which you approach the statement of any man of honour of your acquaintance. Whether the Apostles of the Lamb,—men whom we believe to have been inspired by the Holy Spirit of the Everlasting God,—are not entitled to far higher respect, far higher consideration, at our hands,—I leave you to decide. As one whose joy and crown it has been to weigh every word in the Gospel in hair-scales, I am prepared to risk the issue. Be only as fair to the four Evangelists as you are to one another; and I am quite confident about the result.

I appeal to the experience of every thoughtful man among you who has at all given his mind to the subject of evidence, whether it be not the fact,—(1st) That when two or more persons are giving true versions of the same incident, their accounts will sometimes differ so considerably, that it will seem at first sight as if they could not possibly be reconciled: and yet (2ndly), That a single word of explanation, the discovery of one minute circumstance,—perfectly natural when we hear it stated, yet most unlikely and unlooked-for,—will often suffice to remove the difficulty which before seemed unsurmountable; and further, that when this has been done, the entire consistency of the several accounts becomes apparent; while the harmony which is established is often of the most beautiful nature. (3rdly) That when (for whatever reason) two or more versions of the same incident are not correct, no ingenuity can ever possibly reconcile them, as they stand. They lean apart in hopeless divergence. In other words, they contradict one another.

Now, these principles are fully admitted in daily life. If your friend comes to you with ever so improbable a tale, the last thing which enters into your mind is to disbelieve him. Is he in earnest? Yes, on his honour. Is he sure he is not mistaken? That very doubt of yours requires an apology: but your friend says,—"I am as sure as I am of my existence." "Give it me under your hand and seal then." Your friend begins to suspect your sanity; but the matter being of some importance, he complies. "It must be so then," you exclaim, "though I cannot understand it.".... I only wish that men would be as fair to the Evangelists as they are to their friends!

You are requested to observe,—for really you must admit,—that any possible solution of a difficulty, however improbable it may seem, any possible explanation of the story of a competent witness, is enough logically and morally to exempt that man from the imputation of an incorrect statement. The illustration which first presents itself may require an apology; but the dignity of the pulpit shall not outweigh the dignity of His Gospel after whose blessed Name this House is called[361]: and I can think of nothing as apposite as what follows.

It is a conceivable case, that, hereafter, three persons of known truthfulness should meet, in a Court of Justice at the Antipodes; where the entire difficulty should turn on a question of time. The case is conceivable, that the first should be heard to declare that at Oxford, on such a day, of such a year, he had seen such an one standing before Carfax Church while the clock was striking one:—that the second should declare that he also, on the same day of the same year, had seen the same person passing by St. Mary's, when the clock of that Church was also striking one:—that the third should stand up and assert,—"I also saw the same person on that same day, but it was on the steps of the Cathedral I met him; and I also remember hearing the clock at that moment strike one."—Now I can conceive that the result of such evidence would be adverted upon in some such way as the following:—"While we are disposed to recognize the substantial agreement, and general conformity in respect of details, among the synoptical witnesses, in their leading external outlines, we are yet constrained,"—and the rest of the impertinence we had before. Whereas you and I know perfectly that the three clocks in question were, till lately, kept five minutes apart: a sufficient interval, (I beg you to observe in passing,) for the individual in question to have been seen by you walking in an easterly direction; and by me due west; and by a third person, due east again. Highly improbable circumstances, I freely grant, every one of them; and yet, by the hypothesis, all perfectly true! Meantime, it is conceivable that Judge and jury would have the indecency openly to tax the three men I spoke of with inexactitude in their statements: and it is conceivable that those three honest men—(the only true men, it might be, in the Colony, after all,)—would carry to their grave the imputation of untruth. Here and there, a generous heart would be found to say to them,—I share not in the vulgar cry against you! I nothing doubt that it all fell out precisely as you assert. Either, the clocks in Oxford went wrong that day;—or there had been some trick played with the clocks;—any how, I believe you, for I have evidence that you are marvellously exact in all your little statements; and you cannot have been mistaken in a plain matter like this. I have heard too that you are not the ordinary men you seem.... The men make no answer. They care nothing for your opinion, and my opinion. The rashness of mankind may astonish the Angels perhaps; but the Apostles and Evangelists of Christ are already safe within the veil!

The difficulty supposed is not an imaginary one. St. John says that when Pilate sat in judgment on the Lord of Glory, "it was about the sixth hour[362]." But since St. Mark says that at the third hour they crucified Him[363],—the two statements seem inconsistent. The ancients,—(giants at interpretation, babes in criticism,)—altered the text. Peter, Bishop of Alexandria, a.d. 300, says that he had seen it in the very autograph of St. John[364]. A learned man of our own, however, a hundred years ago, ascertained that, in the Patriarchate of Ephesus, the hours were not computed after the Jewish method: but, (strange to say,) exactly after our own English method[365]. And yet, not so strange either; for the Gospel first came to us from there.—You see at a glance that all the four mentions of time of day in St. John[366], which used to occasion so much difficulty, become beautifully intelligible at once.