Restoring Apostolic Faith

In 2017, Dr. Bart Ehrman published a short but revealing post titled “How Do We Know What Most Scholars Think?” It’s one of those pieces that sounds simple on the surface—“what’s the majority view?”—but touches the heart of how truth and authority work in biblical scholarship. Eight years later, his argument still echoes across classrooms and comment sections alike: if we can identify what “critical scholars” agree on, we can know what the academic mainstream believes about Scripture.

That sounds tidy. But as with most tidy things, it leaves a trail of crumbs worth following.

The Labels Game

Ehrman divides the field into two broad camps: critical scholars and evangelical or conservative scholars. The former, he says, approach the text without confessional commitments; the latter operate within doctrinal boundaries that inevitably shape their conclusions.

Fair enough—methodology matters. Yet, that division isn’t as clean as he implies. Many scholars working within faith traditions—Craig Keener, N. T. Wright, Larry Hurtado, among others—use the same historical-critical tools as their secular colleagues. Their conclusions may differ, but their methods are hardly naïve or insulated. The difference isn’t the scalpel; it’s the hand that holds it.

If “critical” simply means non-believing, then we’re no longer talking about method but worldview. And once worldview replaces method as the defining line, “critical” becomes another creed—just one that pretends not to be one.

Consensus and Its Fragile Authority

Ehrman claims he can estimate scholarly consensus because he knows what’s taught in major non-evangelical programs. That’s a reasonable guess, but it’s also a soft foundation. Academic consensus is descriptive, not evidential. It tells us what’s popular, not what’s proven.

Theology isn’t physics. Our data sets are fragmentary manuscripts, cultural reconstructions, and the biases of translators long gone. To speak of “what most scholars think” is to speak of a moving target—sometimes moved by evidence, sometimes by inertia.

Consensus can be a sign of maturity, or of fatigue. And in a field where methods evolve faster than discoveries, the majority may represent yesterday’s confidence rather than tomorrow’s clarity.

The Echo Chamber Problem

To his credit, Ehrman admits bias—though mostly in others. He suggests that evangelical scholars live in echo chambers, hemmed in by faith commitments, while critical scholars are free to follow the evidence wherever it leads.

But every scholar operates within a paradigm. Thomas Kuhn called it a “disciplinary matrix”; Michael Polanyi described it as “tacit knowledge.” Paradigms don’t make research invalid—they make it possible. The real question is whether we recognize our own scaffolding or mistake it for open sky.

Freedom isn’t found in escaping presuppositions; it’s found in exposing them to daylight.

My Take: The Moving Target of ‘Most Scholars’

The phrase “most scholars” sounds authoritative, but it’s often little more than shorthand for the scholars I read and agree with. It’s not that Ehrman is wrong about where mainstream biblical studies leans—he’s right. But we should never confuse the loudest corridor with the only one that matters.

Critical and confessional voices need each other more than either wants to admit. Without faith, scholarship forgets why the text mattered; without criticism, faith forgets how to think. Both are blind without the other’s questions.

Closing Reflection

Consensus has its place—it keeps textbooks from turning into food fights. But truth tends to show up in the minority report.

So when someone tells you, “most scholars think…,” it’s worth asking: which scholars, using what tools, standing on what ground?

Because “most” may simply mean “the ones we invited to the table.”

Source:

Bart D. Ehrman, “How Do We Know What Most Scholars Think?” (The Bart Ehrman Blog, August 2017).

Read the original post here.