Kristen Macfarlane recasts the historiography of the controversial Reformed figure Hugh Broughton (1549–1612) in Biblical Scholarship in an Age of Controversy. Macfarlane leverages Broughton to argue for a complex relationship between faith and scholarship in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and her foil is those recent historians who, she argues, have used Broughton to advance faulty conclusions. For those scholars, Broughton was merely an angry Puritan. While he attempted to engage in philological scholarship pertaining to the Bible, he did not realize that this foray would erode Christian belief in a divine, authoritative Bible. This “unintended consequence” (p. 15) resulted in skepticism for individuals and, later, the entire Western world. Macfarlane challenges this notion that Broughton was cluelessly undermining the Bible by exploring his conflicts, his work in Hebrew and Greek philology, and his pedagogy. Macfarlane’s Broughton is a compelling example of how early modern biblical scholarship and strict belief in the divinity of the Bible were mutually edifying.

Macfarlane argues that time after time Broughton thought difficult biblical passages were solved best by rigorous engagement with the original languages, as well as reference to ancient, non-biblical literature. For example, a significant early modern debate in England concerned Jesus’s descent into hell. First Peter 3:18 seems to speak of Christ preaching to people who have died, and the Apostle’s Creed confessed Jesus’s descent into Hades. Christian history had located this event between Christ’s death and resurrection. What could that mean? In Broughton’s day, Christians interpreted these texts primarily through the lens of their Christology. For those influenced by Luther’s understanding of the communicatio idiomatum between Christ’s human and divine natures, Jesus’s physical body could be in the grave, descending into hell, and in heaven all at the same time. Thus, Christ’s descent was a bodily descent. For those more aligned with Swiss-reformed Christology, Christ’s body could only be in one location. Therefore, the “descent” could not be physical since his body was either on the cross or in the grave. Further, for Christ to take humanity’s sin on himself, he had to suffer, not merely physically, but even the internal “pains of hell” on the cross. Anything less would not satisfy the punishment for sins (p. 153). These hell-pains were what the Creed and 1 Peter meant for the Reformed. Whether Lutheran or Reformed, such theological presuppositions about Christ drove interpretations of his descent.

In Broughton’s case for Christ’s descent, however, he made no attempt to address that Christology. Wielding philology, ancient pagan sources, and Jewish literature, his argument focused on what the word Hades meant, tracing it through 1 Peter’s usage, the Septuagint, and the underlying Hebrew. Broughton considered Hebrew and Greek semantics as more decisive for the meaning of the text than Christology. Further, Macfarlane maintains that, though Broughton avoided theological argumentation, his argument supported the Swiss-reformed view of Christ. His philological method, therefore, did not result (as an “unintended consequence”) in dismissal of the Bible’s trustworthiness and authority but upheld a theological position convinced of a divine Bible.

Macfarlane also leverages Broughton’s advances in textual criticism, such as his endeavor to produce a Hebrew-Greek concordance or his development of the influential theory of four dialects behind New Testament Greek—both indispensable tools for textual criticism and biblical exegesis. Macfarlane offers another striking example. Broughton supported the Bible’s authority in his solution to the apparent discrepancy between 2 Peter 2:15’s assertion of “Bosor” as the father of Balaam and the various Old Testament passages that call Balaam’s father “Beor” (e.g., Num 22:5). Broughton argued compellingly, with recourse to the Apostle Peter’s location when he wrote the letter and quite technical semantic discussion of how names changed between languages. Clearly, Broughton’s beliefs about the Bible often “lead him to produce useful scholarly tools” (p. 202). Such philological tools did not result in disbelief. In Broughton’s case, the most sophisticated philology defended a higher view of Scripture.

Macfarlane recognizes that the theory of unintended consequences not only reads early modern history incorrectly but even mistakenly assumes that philological study and a divine view of the Bible cannot coexist. While Macfarlane appears convinced that even in Broughton’s time, the Bible could easily be undermined, she clearly states that the answer to the question depends more on who is asking (p. 18). Contemporary activity in academic philology and textual criticism by Evangelicals who affirm the Bible’s divinity proves the same point today that Broughton does for the past. Conclusive answers to the Bible’s divine status via philological study are elusive, and the proposed answer often depends on who one is asking.

Overall, the book is convincing. Broughton’s beliefs about the Bible motivated him toward unique, creative, and cutting-edge learning, and he often worked to present the fruit of that scholarship to lay readers. He could do this because his work supported the Bible’s trustworthiness rather than undermined it. Those interested in the history of exegesis or the post-Reformation will find this work valuable. It is an academic work that will profit scholars of the English Reformation and of the Reformed tradition. Through extensive archival research and meticulous examination of even minute details, Macfarlane turns the historiography on its head to show that Broughton’s belief in a divine Bible did not result in rejecting the Bible’s authority but was rather a tool to uphold and support it.