I recently watched a fascinating discussion between Mark Goodacre and John S. Kloppenborg on the question of whether the hypothetical source Q ever existed. It’s not often that two leading scholars, representing opposing positions, tackle this question head-on, and the conversation was both enlightening and thought-provoking. As I followed their exchange and took careful notes, a number of Kloppenborg’s remarks particularly stood out.

    Kloppenborg emphasized that historical hypotheses inevitably confront evidence that resists simple explanation. In his words, some elements of the data are always “uncooperative” with any proposed scenario. This, he argued, demands scholarly humility: historians must be cautious about drawing sweeping conclusions and instead focus on identifying the hypothesis that best explains the largest portion of the available evidence. Later, he reinforced this point, noting that the Two-Document Hypothesis accounts for “most of the data most of the time.”

    This approach is not unique to Kloppenborg. Bart D. Ehrman, for instance, has highlighted the complexity of the historical processes that produced the Synoptic Gospels, suggesting that no modern reconstruction can fully capture them. From this perspective, models like the Two-Document Hypothesis function primarily as frameworks that help organize evidence rather than as definitive accounts of how the Gospels came together.

    What I found particularly interesting was how this emphasis on methodological caution contrasts with the rhetoric often used by proponents of the Farrer Hypothesis, a model associated with Austin Farrer and more recently defended by Goodacre. While no hypothesis is immune to difficulties, advocates of the Farrer model rarely frame their arguments by highlighting the “unknowable” or messy aspects of the historical record in the same way. They acknowledge uncertainty, of course, but the language of caution, so prominent in discussions of the Two-Document Hypothesis, seems less emphasized.

    This raises an intriguing question: does the way supporters of the Two-Document Hypothesis talk about gaps in the evidence serve a rhetorical function? Statements like “most of the data most of the time” or claims about the limits of reconstructing complex historical realities may reflect genuine methodological humility—but they may also subtly leave unresolved problems unexamined, rather than inviting a reconsideration of alternative models such as the Farrer Hypothesis. It is possible that I have simply overlooked similar acknowledgments from Farrer advocates. Nevertheless, the contrast in tone between these two scholarly approaches highlights an important point: how scholars frame the strengths and limitations of their hypotheses can shape how the broader academic conversation unfolds.