The Bible is often described as “God-breathed,” a phrase taken from 2 Timothy 3:16: “All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.” But what does it mean for Scripture to be “inspired,” and how did the books of the Bible come to be recognised as part of the canon — the authoritative collection of writings that make up the Bible? Were they really “decided” at the Council of Nicaea, as some popular myths claim?
A helpful analogy for inspiration is that of an architect designing a great building. Consider St. Paul’s Cathedral in London — Christopher Wren was the architect who planned and designed it, yet he himself did not lay a single brick. Instead, countless workers followed his design to bring the cathedral into existence. Similarly, God is the ultimate author of Scripture, yet He worked through human writers to bring His message to us. The Holy Spirit inspired them, guiding their words while allowing their personalities, historical context, and literary style to remain evident in their writings.
This means that while the Bible is written by human hands, it carries divine authority because its true source is God Himself. The process of inspiration does not mean God dictated each word like a secretary taking notes, or by possessing the authors, but rather that He ensured the truth of His message was faithfully recorded by the biblical writers.
The word “canon” comes from the Greek κανών (kanōn), meaning “rule” or “measuring rod.” In the context of the Bible, the canon refers to the official list of books recognised as divinely inspired and authoritative for faith and practice.
The canon developed over time as the early church recognised which writings carried divine authority. The Old Testament canon was largely settled by the time of Jesus, based on the Hebrew Scriptures used in the Jewish community. The New Testament canon, however, was formed through a process of discernment over several centuries, as the church recognised which writings were truly inspired and authoritative.
The Septuagint (LXX) is the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures, produced in the 3rd-2nd centuries BC. It was widely used by Greek-speaking Jews and later by early Christians, including the apostles. The Septuagint included several books not found in the Hebrew Bible, known as the Deuterocanonical books (such as Tobit, Judith, Wisdom, and 1–2 Maccabees). While these books were accepted in many early Christian communities and remain part of the canon in Catholic and Orthodox traditions, Protestant reformers later removed them, considering them useful but not divinely inspired at the same level as the rest of Scripture.
The reformers’ view was influenced by Jerome, who, in the 4th century, argued that these books were not part of the Hebrew Bible and therefore should be considered separate. However, he still included them in his Latin Vulgate translation, recognising their historical and devotional value. The Reformers followed Jerome’s stance, moving these books into a separate section rather than outright removing them. It was not until the 19th century that an American Bible Society, citing printing costs and other practical considerations, physically removed these books entirely from Protestant Bibles. This decision solidified what is now commonly referred to as the “Protestant canon” of 66 books.
And the other Books (as Hierome saith) the Church doth read for example of life and instruction of manners; but yet doth it not apply them to establish any doctrine…
(Article 6, 39 Articles of Religion, AD 1562)
For a book to be included in the New Testament canon, it needed to meet certain criteria:
Some early Christian writings, such as 1 Clement and the Epistle of Barnabas, were highly respected but ultimately not included in the New Testament. Why?
A key distinction between these writings and books like Luke and Acts is that Luke was recording the testimony of the apostles themselves under their oversight. Even though he was not an apostle, he wrote with direct apostolic authority. In contrast, 1 Clement and Barnabas were secondary reflections on Christian teaching rather than inspired Scripture.
Some claim that the Bible has been altered or corrupted over the centuries, making it unreliable. However, the sheer number of surviving New Testament manuscripts allows us to reconstruct the original text with a high degree of confidence.
With this wealth of manuscript evidence, scholars can compare variations and confidently determine what the original text said.
Bart Ehrman, a notable agnostic New Testament scholar and textual critic, acknowledges this in his book Misquoting Jesus:
“If he (Bruce Metzger) and I were put in a room and asked to hammer out a consensus statement on what we think the original text of the New Testament probably looked like, there would be very few points of disagreement — maybe one or two dozen out of many thousands. … [T]he essential Christian beliefs are not affected by textual variants in the manuscript tradition of the New Testament.”
Bruce Metzger, Erhman’s mentor, was a leading and influential New Testament scholar and textual critic of the 20th century.
A common misconception is that the Church, particularly at the Council of Nicaea (AD 325), decided which books to include in the Bible while suppressing others. Some versions of the myth claim that the bishops at Nicaea placed all the books on a table and let God miraculously shake off the ones He did not want included. This myth can be traced back to a late ninth-century Greek manuscript known as the Synodicon Vetus. This manuscript, claiming to summarise decisions from Greek councils, presented a narrative in which a divine miracle occurred at Nicaea, with the canonical books being placed on a table while the apocryphal ones fell beneath it.
The canonical and apocryphal books it distinguished in the following manner: in the house of God the books were placed down by the holy altar; then the council asked the Lord in prayer that the inspired works be found on top and the spurious on the bottom. (Synodicon Vetus, 35)
This account was later repeated by figures such as Voltaire in the 18th century, who further fuelled the misconception in his Philosophical Dictionary. It was revived again in the 19th century by Christian radical Robert Taylor, cementing the false idea that Nicaea determined the canon.
In reality, Nicaea had nothing to do with the formation of the canon. The books of the New Testament were already widely accepted based on their apostolic origin, theological soundness, and use in worship long before Nicaea convened.
The Bible is not a random collection of ancient writings but a carefully recognised collection of divinely inspired texts. God, the ultimate architect, ensured that His message was faithfully recorded and preserved through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. The process of canonisation was not about choosing which books people liked best but about discerning which books bore the mark of divine inspiration and apostolic authority.
Understanding this helps us appreciate the Bible not just as a historical document but as the living and active Word of God, given to guide us in faith and life.
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Luke J. Wilson | 5 days ago | Easter
Over the years, I’ve encountered many Christians who’ve quoted from Alexander Hislop’s The Two Babylons as if it were a solid historical resource. The book claims that the Roman Catholic Church is not truly Christian but rather a continuation of ancient Babylonian religion. It’s self-assured and sweeping, and for many people, it seems to explain everything, from Marian devotion to Lent and Easter, to Christmas, as rooted in paganism. But is it accurate? In short: no, it really isn’t. Hislop’s work is a classic example of 19th-century pseudohistory — a polemical piece, written to prove a point, not to explore any historical truth. Flawed Methods and Wild Claims Hislop argues that most Catholic practices — from the Mass and clerical robes to festivals like Christmas and Easter — were somehow borrowed from Babylonian religion. The problem being that Hislop doesn’t rely on primary sources or credible historical data. Instead, he draws connections based on word similarities (like Easter and Ishtar) or visual resemblances (like Mary and child compared with mother-goddess statues from ancient cultures). But phonetic resemblance isn’t evidence, and neither is visual similarity. For example, if I say “sun” and “son” in English, they may sound alike, but they aren’t the same thing. That’s the level of reasoning at work in much of The Two Babylons. Hislop often lumps together completely different ancient figures — Isis, Semiramis, Ishtar, Aphrodite — as if they were all just variations of the same deity. He then tries to say Mary is just the Christian version of this pagan goddess figure. But there’s no credible evidence for that at all. Mary is understood through the lens of Scripture and Christian theology, not through pagan myth. The earliest depictions of Mary and the Christ-child date back to the second century and do not resemble any of the pagan idols. But, again, the common accusations are based on superficial similarities of a woman nursing a child. That’s going to look the same no matter who or what does that! Oldest depiction of Mary. Dura-Europos Church, Syria, 2nd century What About Lent and Tammuz? One of Hislop’s more popular claims is that Lent comes from a Babylonian mourning ritual for the god Tammuz, mentioned in Ezekiel 8:14. He argues that early Christians borrowed the 40-day mourning period and just rebranded it. But this doesn’t line up with the evidence. Lent developed as a time of fasting and repentance leading up to Easter — especially for new believers preparing for baptism. The number forty comes from Scripture: Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness, Moses’ fast on Sinai, and Elijah’s journey to Horeb. Church Fathers like Irenaeus and Athanasius saw it as a time for self-denial and spiritual renewal — not mourning a pagan god. Yes, there are pagan festivals that involve seasonal death and rebirth stories. But similarity does not mean origin. If that logic held, then even Jesus’ resurrection would be suspect because pagan cultures also told resurrection-like stories. Yet the gospel stands apart — not because of myth but because of history and revelation. Why Hislop’s Work Persists Even though The Two Babylons is poor scholarship, it’s unfortunately had a long shelf life. That’s partly because it appeals to a certain kind of suspicion. If you’re already sceptical about the Catholic Church, Hislop offers an easy explanation: “It’s all pagan!”. But history isn’t ever that simple. And theology — especially the theology handed down through the ages by the faithful— isn’t built on conspiracy and apparent obscure connections, but on Christ and the truth of the Scriptures. Interestingly, even Ralph Woodrow, a minister who once wrote a book defending Hislop’s ideas, later retracted his views after digging deeper into the evidence. He eventually wrote a book called The Babylon Connect...
Darwin to Jesus | 16th April 2025 | Atheism
Guest post by Darwin to Jesus Dostoevsky famously said, “If there is no God, then everything is permitted.” For years, as an atheist, I couldn’t understand what he meant, but now I do… Here’s a simple analogy that shows why only theism can make sense of morality: Imagine you just got hired at a company. You show up, set up your desk, and decide to use two large monitors. No big deal, right? But then some random guy walks up to you and says: “Hey, you’re not allowed to do that.” You ask, “What do you mean?” They say, “You’re not permitted* to use monitors that big.” In this situation, the correct response would be: “Says who?” We’ll now explore the different kinds of answers you might hear — each one representing a popular moral theory without God — and why none of them actually work. Subjective Morality The random guy says, “Well, I personally just happen to not like big monitors. I find them annoying.” Notice that’s not a reason for you to change your setup. Their personal preferences don’t impose obligations on you. This is what subjective morality looks like. It reduces morality to private taste. If this were the answer, you’d be correct to ignore this person and get back to work — big monitors are still permitted. Cultural Relativism Instead, they say, “It’s not just me — most people here don’t use big monitors. It’s not our culture.” That’s cultural relativism: right and wrong are just social customs, what is normal behavior. But notice customs aren’t obligations. If the culture were different, the moral rule would be different, which means it isn’t really moral at all. You might not fit in. You might not be liked. But you’re still permitted to use big monitors. Emotivism Here after being asked “says who?” the person just blurts out, “Boo, big monitors!” You reply, “Hurrah, big monitors!” That’s the entire conversation. This is emotivism. On this moral theory when we talk about right and wrong we’re actually just expressing our personal feelings towards actions, I boo rape, you hurrah rape. But shouting “boo!” at someone doesn’t create real obligations. You’re still permitted to use large monitors. Utilitarianism Here, the person says, “Your big monitors lower the overall productivity of the office. You’re not permitted to use them because they lead to worse consequences.” This is utilitarianism: morality is based on producing the greatest happiness for the greatest number. But even if that’s true — so what? Who says you’re obligated to maximize group productivity? And what if your monitors actually help you work better? Utilitarianism might tell you what leads to better outcomes, but it doesn’t tell you why you’re morally obligated to follow that path — especially if it comes at your own expense. You’re still permitted to use large monitors. Virtue Ethics Here they say, “Using big monitors just doesn’t reflect the virtues we admire here — simplicity, humility, restraint.” This is virtue ethics. Morality is about becoming the right kind of person. But who defines those virtues? And why are you obligated to follow them? What if your idea of a virtuous worker includes productivity and confidence? Without a transcendent standard, virtues are just cultural preferences dressed up in moral language. If you don’t care about virtue or their arbitrary standards, then you have no obligation. You’re still permitted to use large monitors. Atheist Moral Realism But what if they say, “Listen, there’s a rule. It’s always been here. It says you can’t use monitors that large.” You ask, “Who made the rule?” They say, “No one.” You ask, “Who owns this company?” They say, “No one owns it. The company just exists.” You look around and ask, “Where is the rule?” They say, “You won’t find it w...
Luke J. Wilson | 09th April 2025 | History
We often hear that Jesus was “about 33 years old” when he was crucified and only had a three-year ministry. But have you ever wondered how precise that number is, or why we assume that was his age, especially when Scripture doesn’t specify? Table of Contents The Gospel of Luke: “About Thirty” Early Church Testimony: Irenaeus and the Longer Ministry Historical Anchors: Birth, Pilate, and the Crucifixion Window The Death of Herod Cross-referencing with Pilate, Caiaphas, and Jesus When Did Tiberius Begin to Reign? 1. From his co-regency with Augustus (AD 11–12) 2. From the death of Augustus (AD 14) How Does This Affect Jesus’ Age and Ministry Start? Astronomy and the Timing of Passover Estimated Lengths of Jesus’ Ministry Why This Matters In Summary Further Reading I’ve long wondered about this, especially when the Pharisees accused Jesus of not being close to fifty, which seems odd if he was only in his early 30s. Then I later discovered Irenaeus also had similar thoughts in the second century, and the plot thickened! I’ve had this rumbling around in the back of my mind for a few years now and slowly chewed it over. So now I’m going to try and present the evidence, rather than rely solely on tradition and assumptions, and piece together what the Gospels, early Church Fathers, historical data, and even astronomy can tell us about the potential age of Jesus and the length of his ministry. What follows is a deeper, richer look at the life and death of Jesus and what we can learn by following the evidence. The Gospel of Luke: “About Thirty” Luke 3:23 tells us plainly: Jesus was about thirty years old when he began his work. This statement has historically been the anchor point for dating Jesus’ ministry. Most take this to mean he was around 30 at his baptism, which marked the beginning of his public ministry. Something to bear in mind here is that Luke isn’t exact and only says “about thirty”, so he could have been slightly younger or older at the time. But being around the age of 30 would align with the requirements of priests, which Jesus was also fulfilling the role of (Hebrews 2:17; Numbers 4:1–4; Numbers 8:23–25). But from there, it’s traditionally assumed that Jesus ministered for just three years before his death, mainly based on the Gospel of John, which mentions three Passovers (John 2:13, 6:4, 11:55). However, John also says at the end of his Gospel in John 21:25: But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. This is a clear reminder, even if John is being hyperbolic here: not everything was recorded. Considering that the Synoptic Gospels only mention one Passover, the number of Passovers we read about in John may not reflect the total number Jesus experienced during his ministry. They may also serve a theological point (three being a prominent number in Scripture) rather than a chronological one. Early Church Testimony: Irenaeus and the Longer Ministry In the second century, Irenaeus, bishop of Lyon and disciple of Polycarp (who had also known the Apostle John and was likely his disciple), made an interesting claim about the age of Jesus — and backed it up by saying it was verified by the Apostle John himself! In Against Heresies (2.22.4–6), Irenaeus wrote: …our Lord possessed [old age] while He still fulfilled the office of a Teacher, even as the Gospel and all the elders testify, those who were conversant in Asia with John, the disciple of the Lord, [affirming] that John conveyed to them that information. … Some of them, moreover, saw not only John but the other apostles also, and heard the same account from them, and bear testimony to this statement. He argued that the line in John 8:57: Then the Jews said to him, ‘You are not yet fifty years old, and have you seen Abraha...
KingsServant | 12th March 2025 | Islam
This is a guest post by “KingsServant” In 2019 a book called Defying Jihad was published by Tyndale House, the reputable Christian publisher telling the story of “Esther Ahmad” a pseudonym used by the author alongside her co-author Craig Borlase, who has previously written alongside, well known Christian personalities such as Matt Redman the singer and Andrew Brunson, an American pastor imprisoned by the Turkish government. As I began to read this book over this past year I was expecting an encouraging account of how a former Jihadi found Christ and escaped her previous accomplices. Very quickly, however, I became uncomfortable, her descriptions of her background involved allegedly committed Muslims doing very un-Islamic things and the unnamed militant group doing unusual things that didn’t fit my knowledge gained from years of study of Islam and interactions with Muslims, including extremists. As my doubts about the authenticity of the book solidified, and yet I couldn’t find anyone else who had questioned these things before me, or on the other hand provided verification of her story. I decided to contact Craig. During our brief and cordial email exchange he told me that he had been in touch with people who knew Esther after she escaped her family home, but so far has not suggested he has any other lines of evidence confirming any of the key elements of her account before that time. As a result, I am writing this article to draw attention to the aspects that raise suspicion. According to “Esther’s” story, she was raised in Pakistan where she was sent to an extremist madrassa (or Muslim school) for girls, there they were shown images of victims of violence and told that Christians and Jews were responsible - the emphasis on Jews and particularly Christians by a militant group based in Pakistan is strange. All the terrorist groups in Pakistan direct their efforts towards Hindus (especially in Kashmir) or other Muslims, since Christians are such a tiny minority there. Things rapidly become even stranger when a Mullah displays weapons to the group of girls telling them “… one day you will get to handle these” as the book continues describing them being encouraged to aspire to physical violence towards Jews and Christians specifically, the description of “Aunt Selma” volunteering for and dying fighting Jihad is likewise out of place. Islamic terrorist groups very rarely recruit women for combat roles, as Devorah Margolin describes Hamas and ISIS as departing from convention by encouraging female participation in violence and even then in only a very restricted way under particular circumstances with a specific fatwa (or Islamic ruling) being issued.1 On page 33, the militant group leader “Anwar” suggests that Esther could find a husband in the west to bring him to Islam. It is strictly forbidden for a Muslim woman to marry a non Muslim man, the idea that they would be encouraged by a scholar to date is about as unbelievable. In a conservative Pakistani culture, she would more likely find herself the victim of a so-called “honour killing” for such a thing.2 After her initial chance encounters with her future husband “John” (not as a result of trying to follow “Anwar’s” advice), on page 92 it is recorded that he said to her “… I’m not against your faith and beliefs…”, it’s the kind of thing that we might expect a liberal in the west to say, but not a Pakistani believer who knows that Islam denies that Jesus is the Son of God and that he died for sinners. Following her conversion according to her account, she engaged in a number of public debates with clerics in which she defended her decision to leave Islam and follow Christ. It is not uncommon for apostates to have meetings with scholars arranged by their family members in the hope that they might be won back to Islam, but it is very surprising that her influential father would want to give his apostate daughter su...
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