Chapter 3: Canon Wars - Hippo, Carthage, and the Books on the Edge

This chapter is part of the book The Sacred Editors: Christianity.

"The final New Testament canon wasn't declared at Nicaea—it took two more generations and a great deal of shouting."

North Africa, 393 CE. The late afternoon sun streams through narrow windows into a stone hall in Hippo Regius, casting long shadows across a gathering of weathered bishops. The air is thick with frankincense and tension.

Aurelius of Carthage stands at the center, his calloused hands gripping a scroll that will change Christianity forever. Around him, forty-seven bishops from across North Africa lean forward in their wooden chairs, their faces etched with the fatigue of endless theological debates. Some bear the scars of recent Donatist controversies that have torn their churches apart. Others worry about Pelagian teachings spreading from Britain. All are weary of the confusion that plagues their congregations.

In one corner sits Augustine, not yet forty but already commanding attention with his penetrating intellect and passionate advocacy. His dark eyes flash as he speaks of the chaos in Christian worship: some congregations read Paul's supposed letter to the Laodiceans while others denounce it as forgery; Syrian churches embrace Tatian's Diatessaron while Alexandrian communities insist on separate Gospels; respected teachers like Origen cite the Shepherd of Hermas as Scripture while critics dismiss it as recent invention.

"How can we teach with authority," Augustine demands, "when we cannot agree on which books carry that authority?"

The question hangs in the incense-laden air like a challenge to the divine itself.

Aurelius gestures toward the list before him—twenty-seven books for the New Testament, carefully debated and winnowed from a much larger collection of revered Christian writings. The bishops vote, some enthusiastically, others with visible reluctance. Letters will be sent to churches throughout North Africa and beyond, sharing their decision. Copies will make their way to Rome, though no formal papal approval is required or expected.

Four years later, at the Council of Carthage, that same list will be solemnly reaffirmed. It will become the foundation for what Western Christianity recognizes as the New Testament canon. But this moment in Hippo represents no simple acknowledgment of divine revelation—it is a profoundly human negotiation, shaped by regional politics, liturgical needs, and theological convenience. Some books barely survive the debates. Others, beloved by generations of Christians, are reluctantly abandoned.

The borders of Scripture are finally being drawn. But not without casualties.

The Long Road to Canonical Definition

The persistent myth that the New Testament canon was established at the Council of Nicaea in 325 CE reflects how much modern Christians want to believe in tidy, decisive moments of divine revelation. The reality proved far messier and more contingent. Nicaea addressed the Arian controversy about Christ's divinity but left canonical questions entirely unresolved. The process of defining which books belonged in the New Testament extended well into the fourth century and beyond, involving multiple regional councils, influential theologians, and political calculations that had little to do with abstract theological principles.

The final shape of the canon in the Western Church emerged through the deliberations of two African regional councils: the Council of Hippo (393 CE) and the Council of Carthage (397 CE). These gatherings endorsed the twenty-seven-book list that modern Christians recognize as the New Testament, including several texts that remained hotly disputed: Hebrews (whose Pauline authorship was increasingly questioned), James (which seemed to contradict Paul on faith and works), 2 Peter (whose late composition and linguistic differences from 1 Peter troubled scholars), 2 and 3 John (brief letters of uncertain provenance), Jude (which quoted non-canonical books), and Revelation (whose violent imagery and obscure symbolism disturbed many church leaders).¹

The influence of Augustine of Hippo proved decisive in these deliberations. As the most prominent theologian in North Africa and an increasingly powerful voice throughout the Latin-speaking church, Augustine argued forcefully that canonical confusion was undermining Christian unity and teaching authority. His approach was pragmatic rather than mystical: he advocated accepting only those books that had achieved widespread usage across the major Christian centers—Rome, Carthage, Constantinople, Jerusalem, and Alexandria.

As Augustine explained in his On Christian Doctrine, "Among the canonical Scriptures, the authority is greatest in those which are received by all the Catholic Churches."² This criterion of universal ecclesial acceptance became the primary test for canonical inclusion, effectively privileging books that served institutional needs over those that might offer theological innovation or spiritual challenge.

Jerome's role proved equally significant, though more ambivalent. His Latin Vulgate translation provided the textual foundation that made canonical standardization practically possible across the Latin-speaking West. Yet Jerome himself harbored serious doubts about several books that ultimately gained canonical status. He questioned the apostolic authorship of Hebrews and considered Revelation theologically problematic, but eventually deferred to emerging church consensus "for the sake of peace and unity."³

This tension between individual scholarly judgment and institutional harmony would echo throughout subsequent Christian history.

The Excluded Voices: What Was Left Behind

The books that failed to achieve canonical status were not obscure or marginal writings discovered centuries later in monastery libraries. Many had been widely read, regularly cited by respected church fathers, and used in liturgical worship across Christian communities for generations. Their exclusion represented deliberate choices about what kind of Christianity the institutional church wanted to promote and preserve.

The Shepherd of Hermas, for example, had been considered canonical by prominent figures including Clement of Alexandria and Origen. This apocalyptic work, featuring angelic visions and detailed moral instruction, was read publicly in Roman churches well into the fourth century. Its emphasis on the possibility of repentance after baptism and its detailed descriptions of angelic hierarchies appealed to Christians seeking rigorous spiritual discipline and mystical experience.⁴

The Didache (Teaching of the Twelve Apostles) provided comprehensive guidance for Christian communities on topics ranging from baptismal procedures to Eucharistic prayers to the treatment of traveling prophets. Some scholars argue that its exclusion reflected concern about its detailed liturgical prescriptions, which might have limited local flexibility in worship practices, or worry about its acceptance of prophetic authority that could challenge emerging episcopal structures.⁵

First Clement, a letter from the Roman church to the Corinthian community, was included in some early biblical manuscripts and cited as authoritative by church fathers. Its emphasis on ecclesiastical order and submission to appointed leaders aligned well with developing institutional priorities, but its obvious post-apostolic dating may have ultimately worked against its canonical inclusion.

The Gospel of Peter, which presented a dramatically supernatural account of Christ's resurrection including a walking, talking cross, was rejected partly for its theological eccentricity but perhaps more importantly because it was associated with communities that church leaders considered theologically unreliable.

These exclusions reflected three primary criteria that governed canonical decision-making: apostolic origin (real or attributed), orthodox theology (as defined by emerging institutional consensus), and widespread ecclesial usage(particularly in major urban centers). Books that lacked clear apostolic connections, promoted theological positions that seemed problematic to fourth-century bishops, or remained primarily regional in their appeal were systematically excluded, regardless of their spiritual value or historical significance.

The Persistence of Canonical Diversity

Despite the apparent decisiveness of the North African councils, canonical consensus remained elusive across the broader Christian world. Eastern churches continued to question Revelation well into the medieval period, with some never fully accepting its canonical status. The Syrian Church maintained a shorter New Testament canon of only twenty-two books into the fifth century, while the Armenian Church included 3 Corinthians (a letter supposedly from Paul responding to Corinthian questions about resurrection).⁶

The Ethiopian Orthodox tradition developed the most expansive canon of all, eventually recognizing thirty-five New Testament books including 1 Enoch, Jubilees, and other texts that most Christian traditions had long since abandoned. This Ethiopian corpus reflects not theological eccentricity but rather the preservation of early Christian reading practices that survived in communities relatively isolated from the canonical standardization occurring in the Roman Mediterranean.⁷

Even within the Latin West, the canonical boundaries established at Hippo and Carthage required ongoing reinforcement and clarification. Regional liturgical practices continued to vary, with some communities maintaining traditional readings from non-canonical texts during certain seasons or feast days. The development of standardized lectionaries—systematic cycles of biblical readings for worship—played a crucial role in reinforcing canonical boundaries by determining which texts actually functioned as Scripture in the lived experience of Christian communities.

What Would Have Changed?

The canonical choices made in fourth-century North Africa were not inevitable, and alternative decisions could have produced dramatically different trajectories for Christian development. Understanding these counterfactual possibilities illuminates how contingent our current biblical arrangements really are.

If Revelation Had Been Excluded

The Book of Revelation was the most contested text in the entire canonical process. Many Eastern theologians, including the influential Eusebius of Caesarea, categorized it among "disputed" rather than "acknowledged" books.⁸ Had the African councils followed Eastern skepticism and excluded Revelation from the canon, Christianity might have developed along markedly less apocalyptic lines.

Paula Fredriksen and other scholars argue that Revelation's canonical inclusion provided ongoing justification for millennialist movements, violent religious rhetoric, and the theological framework that would later support Crusading ideology.⁹ Without Revelation's vivid imagery of cosmic war between good and evil, Christian political theology might have remained more focused on gradual transformation than on catastrophic intervention. The absence of Revelation might also have reduced Christianity's appeal to revolutionary movements while strengthening its compatibility with stable political orders.

If Hebrews Had Been Rejected

The authorship of Hebrews was disputed from early times, and many scholars, including Jerome, doubted its Pauline origins. Its exclusion would have significantly weakened the theological foundation for understanding Christ as eternal high priest and mediator—concepts that became central to Catholic Eucharistic theology and Protestant doctrines of substitutionary atonement.

James D.G. Dunn suggests that without Hebrews' sophisticated development of Christ's priestly role, Christian theology might have placed greater emphasis on Jesus as teacher and prophet rather than as cosmic mediator.¹⁰ This could have promoted more ethical and practical approaches to Christian discipleship while reducing emphasis on metaphysical theories of atonement that would later divide Eastern and Western Christianity.

If the Shepherd of Hermas Had Been Included

The Shepherd of Hermas enjoyed enormous popularity in early Christianity and was considered canonical by major church fathers. Its inclusion would have provided biblical warrant for several theological emphases that were gradually marginalized in orthodox Christianity: the possibility of serious repentance after baptism, detailed angelology, and rigorous moral standards for church leadership.

Carolyn Osiek argues that canonical inclusion of Hermas might have supported more mystical and experiential approaches to Christian spirituality, possibly preventing the sharp distinction between clerical and lay spiritual authority that characterized medieval Christianity.¹¹ The text's emphasis on ongoing revelation through angelic visions might also have provided biblical support for prophetic movements that later church authorities sought to suppress.

If the Didache Had Been Included

The Didache offered detailed practical guidance for Christian community life, including specific instructions for baptism, fasting, Eucharistic celebration, and the evaluation of traveling teachers. Its canonical inclusion might have produced more unified liturgical practices across early Christianity while providing biblical authority for communal discernment in matters of church governance.

Clayton Jefford suggests that the Didache's "Two Ways" moral teaching (the Way of Life versus the Way of Death) could have provided a stronger biblical foundation for ethical instruction and catechetical preparation, possibly influencing the development of Christian moral theology in more systematic directions.¹² The text's detailed guidance on community financial practices might also have shaped Christian approaches to economic ethics quite differently.

Scholar Debate: Consensus or Institutional Control?

Contemporary scholars remain divided about whether the canonical process reflected genuine spiritual discernment or represented the imposition of institutional preferences that served the interests of emerging church hierarchy.

Bruce Metzger, in his foundational study The Canon of the New Testament, emphasizes that the African councils primarily formalized existing liturgical consensus rather than imposing novel decisions. In Metzger's view, the canonical books had already demonstrated their spiritual authority through centuries of use in Christian worship, teaching, and spiritual formation. The councils simply recognized what faithful communities had already discerned through lived experience.¹³

Bart Ehrman offers a more critical assessment, arguing that canonical decisions reflected the triumph of particular theological and political interests rather than neutral spiritual discernment. In Lost Scriptures, Ehrman contends that books were included or excluded based on their compatibility with emerging orthodox positions and their usefulness for supporting institutional authority structures.¹⁴

Lee Martin McDonald advocates for a nuanced middle position, arguing that canonization involved ongoing negotiation between competing priorities: theological consistency, pastoral utility, historical authenticity, and institutional stability. Rather than viewing the process as either purely spiritual or entirely political, McDonald emphasizes that canonical formation reflected the complex realities of communities seeking to preserve their most treasured traditions while adapting to changing circumstances.¹⁵

Harry Gamble contributes valuable perspective on the material and social dimensions of canonical formation, emphasizing how factors like the cost of manuscript production, literacy rates, and the development of Christian educational institutions all influenced which texts survived and flourished. Gamble's work demonstrates that canonical outcomes reflected not just theological judgment but also practical constraints on textual transmission and preservation.¹⁶

The emerging scholarly consensus recognizes canonical formation as a multifaceted historical process that involved genuine religious conviction alongside institutional calculation, spiritual discernment interacting with political convenience, and theological principle shaped by practical necessity. This complexity resists simple characterization as either purely inspired or merely manipulative.

The Enduring Legacy of Canonical Choices

The twenty-seven-book New Testament canon established in fourth-century North Africa continues to shape Christian faith and practice fifteen centuries later. Most Christians who recite biblical passages during worship, appeal to scriptural authority in theological debates, or seek divine guidance through biblical meditation are engaging with a textual collection whose boundaries were determined by bishops balancing theological, political, and pastoral considerations in circumstances far removed from contemporary Christian experience.

Understanding this history doesn't invalidate biblical authority, but it does illuminate how deeply human processes of decision-making shaped what Christians came to regard as divinely inspired Scripture. The canon emerged through prayer and politics, conviction and compromise, spiritual insight and institutional necessity. Recognizing this complexity can actually deepen appreciation for the remarkable process through which diverse Christian communities came to recognize certain texts as uniquely authoritative for their ongoing life and mission.

The books that were left on the edge—whether excluded entirely or preserved only in specific regional traditions—continue to offer windows into the theological diversity and spiritual richness of early Christianity. They remind us that the canonical process involved real losses alongside its obvious gains, and that understanding Christian origins requires attention to the voices that were marginalized as well as those that were preserved.

Contemporary debates about biblical interpretation, religious authority, and the relationship between tradition and innovation still echo the fundamental questions that shaped fourth-century canonical discussions. How should religious communities balance respect for inherited tradition with openness to new insights? What criteria should govern decisions about which voices deserve ongoing attention and which can be safely ignored? How can institutional stability be maintained without suppressing legitimate diversity and creativity?

The bishops who gathered at Hippo and Carthage faced these questions under the specific pressures of their historical moment, but the underlying tensions they navigated remain central to religious life across different traditions and eras. Their decisions created the textual foundation for subsequent Christian development while also establishing precedents for how religious authority exercises its power to include and exclude, preserve and abandon, canonize and marginalize.

Perhaps most importantly, the canonical process demonstrates that the Bible's authority emerges not from its isolation from human history but from its deep embeddedness within the lived experience of communities seeking to preserve and transmit their most sacred traditions. Understanding how the canon was formed doesn't threaten biblical authority—it reveals the remarkable human and divine collaboration through which that authority came to be recognized and preserved across changing circumstances and diverse cultural contexts.

Notes

For the contested status of these books in the fourth century, see Bruce M. Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development, and Significance (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), 201-247.
Augustine, On Christian Doctrine 2.8.12, trans. D.W. Robertson Jr., On Christian Doctrine (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958), 40.
Jerome's canonical doubts are documented in his biblical prologues and letters. See J.N.D. Kelly, Jerome: His Life, Writings, and Controversies (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), 159-165.
For the status of the Shepherd of Hermas in early Christianity, see Carolyn Osiek, Shepherd of Hermas: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 18-32.
The liturgical and ecclesial implications of the Didache are explored in Clayton N. Jefford, The Didache in Context: Essays on Its Text, History and Transmission (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 143-167.
Regional canonical variations are surveyed in Lee Martin McDonald, The Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon, rev. ed. (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2017), 345-378.
For the Ethiopian Orthodox canon, see Roger Cowley, The Traditional Interpretation of the Apocalypse of St. John in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 9-23.
Eusebius's canonical categories are outlined in Ecclesiastical History 3.25.1-7.
Paula Fredriksen, Augustine and the Jews: A Christian Defense of Jews and Judaism (New York: Doubleday, 2008), 291-318.
James D.G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 543-566.
Osiek, Shepherd of Hermas, 45-62.
Jefford, Didache in Context, 189-203.
Metzger, Canon of the New Testament, 286-293.
Bart D. Ehrman, Lost Scriptures: Books that Did Not Make It into the New Testament (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 1-15.
McDonald, Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon, 414-456.
Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 204-237.