Editorial Fatigue in the Gospels

A Key to the Synoptic Problem

Earlier this year, I put together an annotated bibliography on the resurrection. And one reader picked up on an editorial flaw:

“You mention Licona when discussing Miller as if Licona might have been mentioned elsewhere in the list but I don't see any other reference to him - was he initially on the list?”

This was an astute observation! I had indeed included Michael Licona’s book The Resurrection of Jesus in my list, but it ending up not making the final cut.

The inconsistency arose because I hadn’t tidied up the post when editing. So when it came to talking about another book, I left in a mention about Licona (showing that I had mentioned him more fully in an earlier draft).

There are two lessons to take from this. The first is some of my readers – I am looking at you, Karl! – are more fastidious as readers than I am a proof-reader.

The second is that even the most basic piece of composition (a short substack article) can reveal slips and seams which betray an earlier stage of composition or redaction. In movies and films, these are sometimes referred to “continuity errors”.

Interestingly, the same kind editorial slips can be seen in the gospels. Matthew and Luke made changes to Mark, but on occasion, they fail to carry through those changes consistently. This left traces of Mark’s earlier narrative.

Mark Goodacre famously called this phenomenon “editorial fatigue.” In his classic article on the subject, he defines editorial fatigue as follows:

“a phenomenon that will inevitably occur when a writer is heavily dependent on another’s work. In telling the same story as his predecessor, a writer makes changes in the early stages which he is unable to sustain throughout.”¹

In this piece, I want to give some examples of editorial fatigue in the gospels.² I also consider what this might tell us about the gospels’ composition.

Examples of Editorial Fatigue

There are several examples of editorial fatigue which are often raised in the scholarly literature. Let us take a look at just four of them:

a. The Feeding of the Five Thousand. In Mark, the evangelist tells us three times that the feeding of the five thousand took place ‘in a deserted place’ (6:31, 32, 35). This is why Jesus initially tells his disciples to send the crowd away to the ‘surrounding country and villages’ to buy something to eat.

When the narrative is re-produced in Luke, he changes the location to ‘a city of Bethsaida’ (9:10). Yet he maintains parts of the dialogue that follows, so that Jesus tells them to go to the ‘surrounding country and villages’ to get provisions, because we are ‘here in a deserted place’ (9:12). Luke appears to have forgotten his location change.

b. The Cleansing of the Leper. One of Mark’s favourite motifs is the messianic secret, in which Jesus instructs those he heals not to tell anyone about their healing. One example is Mark’s healing of the leper, after which he instructs the leper: ‘See that you don't tell anyone. But go, show yourself to the priest’ (1:44).

When Matthew reproduces the narrative, he keeps Jesus’ instruction to secrecy. But this element no longer makes sense, because Matthew has reset the narrative so that it takes place among ‘many crowds’ (8:1), so many have already witnessed the miracle. His introduction of the crowds to Mark is at the expense of narrative consistency.

c. The Parable of the Sower. Another example of ‘editorial fatigue’ is found in Luke’s version of the parable of the sower. Luke removes three of the features that are found in Mark’s version of the parable. But he then assumes some of the same features when he interprets the parable, reverting to Mark’s own interpretation of the parable.

This is clearest with reference to the second seed that is sown. Mark tells us that the seed fell on rocky ground, that the sun scorched it and it withered away because it had ‘no root’. Yet in Luke’s version, he initially explains that the seed withered lack for lack of moisture. But then he reverts back to Mark’s explanation that it had ‘no root’ in his interpretation.

d. Is Herod a King? Finally, we might take another example of Matthew’s editorial fatigue. Quite unusually, Mark refers to Herod Antipas the tetrarch as a king (for reasons I explore here). When reading Mark, Matthew initially corrects Mark and refers to Antipas by his more appropriate title, ‘tetrarch.’ But then later – seemingly forgetting that he has made this change – he reverts to calling him king.